I have found healing in the funniest places. Places I wouldn't have expected for myself. Sitting on the floor of the nursery. Writing my heart out every day. Instagram. In the hearts of "strangers."
And in all things creative.
I have taken on quite a few "creative projects" since losing Ryan, and each one was done lovingly in his memory. A shadow box of flowers. A candle with his name. A photo book of every pregnancy memory I have. Stocking tags. Tree ornaments.
Some projects were more successful than others. (I definitely hid the horrendous ornament we created toward the back of the tree -- and there it'll always hang I'm sure, since I can't seem to part with things that are his -- no matter how hideous!)
But every project has given me a sense of closeness to him. A sense of mothering him. And every time I feel close to him, or feel I've been a real mom to him, I feel a little bit more healed.
"Healing doesn't mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our life."
I'm a long way from feeling like I'm "healed." And maybe I'll never be completely whole again. But the pieces of my heart that I have left are mending. Little by little. And even though some days are still so, so hard and devastating, and I sometimes give in to my grief and let it carry me a while, I refuse to let it control me completely.
So I get creative. And get carried away in that. Whatever works, right?