Journal Vol. 2: Small Miracles and Missing Pieces

Between loads of laundry and waves of grief...

Six months.

Half a year of the most precious little man. Somehow, this month has felt like it has held a lifetime of things all at once. There have been little things that make me stop and think "when did you get so big?". New sounds, new expressions, the way you scrunch your nose with a cheesy grin. Tiny achievements that would not look like much to others but feel enormous to me, like successfully latching (most days).

Then there was grief. A lot of it. We lost Koda.

Koda wasnt simply a dog that became part of our family, she was woven through our lives like a fine tapestry. She was beyond a dog, she was the anchor our entire world was built upon. Responsible for so much of what and who we have in our lives. The trajectory that bought us to this very moment in the home we built with the boy we birthed started 11 years ago when her beautiful blue eyes connected with mine and our souls claimed each others as home.

Some losses are impossible to explain because explaining them makes them seem so much smaller than they are...

There are moments I still expect to see her. A familiar shape or a little routine.

Then there is the strange business of continuing. The bottles still need washing. Nappies still need changing.

There are floors to clean, meals to make and a baby who does not care that mum has had a difficult day.

The thing is, life doesnt stop just because your heart is hurting. In fact, sometimes it feels cruelly ordinary.

You can be crying one minute, then laughing because your baby has found something extraordinarily hilarious about the random box you left on the floor.

You can spend the whole morning missing someone so fiercely your heart physically aches, and by afternoon be celebrating because your baby has pooped.

I'm learning that grief doesn't mean you have to put everything beautiful on hold. Thats the strangest part of this month. While one part of our little world was disappearing, another was changing right in front of me.

Six months ago I was working out how to be someone's mum. I still don't have it figured out, but it does feel less about me learning how to be a mum, and simply learning who he is. And I love that.

I love watching his personality appear in little pieces. I love wondering what he'll be like.

I love the ordinary days that, at the time, feel completely unremarkable but that I know I'll wish I could bottle up one day. The sleepy cuddles. The ridiculous little noises. The smiles from across the room.

I love the little milestones that don't fit neatly in a baby book. The ones that aren't obvious. The things we can't measure and compare.

Motherhood is strange like that... so much of it repetitive.

Wash. Feed. Pump. Change. Fold. Clean. Repeat.

These repetitive days are the ones where the most important things are happening. A baby is developing. A mother is growing. A dog shaped space has appeared in our lives. And somehow, the laundry keeps coming.

I've always imagined grief and happiness as two separate things. Like you move from one into the other. Like eventually one finishes and the next begins. But thats not how life works. Grief comes in waves, joy does to. Sometimes they crash into each other.

There have been moments where I have felt completely heartbroken, and moments where I have felt so incredibly lucky that it almost hurts in a different way. I've missed Koda. I've marvelled at my baby. I've cried. I've laughed. I've been exhausted. I've been proud.

I've had days where getting through the basics felt like enough, and days where I looked around at my life and thought, look at all of this.

Six months in, I'm learning that there isn't always a clean line between the hard days and the beautiful ones. Sometimes they're the same day. Sometimes they're the same hour. And sometimes, if I'm very lucky, the beautiful thing happens somewhere between a load of laundry and a wave of grief.

Maybe that's what this season is: learning to hold the beautiful and the painful in the same two hands.

The washing will be there tomorrow. The dishes probably will too. But he won't be six months old forever. So tonight, I'm leaving the laundry unfolded and staying here for a little while longer.

Until the next page, Jade.