One Year

“How do I, get through one night without you? If I had to live without you, what kind of life would that be?…” – LeAnne Rimes

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1 year.

365 days.

525,600 minutes.

I have been dreading this day. Dreading this week. Dreading the ever so constant reminder of your absence. My anxiety building as each day passed, as though moving in slow motion towards the inevitable. There is a piece of the puzzle that is always missing- no matter which way I try to put it back together, there is always a hole that only you fill. A place in my heart that is only yours. How time has passed between then and now I can only guess. How I’ve continued to keep breathing despite your absence I will never know. My heart shatters with each beat that you are not here for. I have not figured out how to miss you without breaking my own heart, and my god, how I miss you. How my heart longs for you with each passing moment.

People say that “time heals all wounds”, but I swear to God my clock must have arthritis. Time doesn’t pass in a way that lessens this pain. It is indescribable, how much a heart can hurt. Missing you, is a pain that can only be fully understood by those who have lost a child – because this unnatural hell we’ve been left to wander through cannot be explained. To lose a child is to upset the natural order of the world. There is a reason that there has never been a word for it. It cannot be described, only felt through the hollows of a heart that’s been left to carry on through the rubble.

”Which is to say, it has been a hard year. I hid myself from you, because I thought the mess would disgust you…” – Sierra Demulder

I cannot count the times I’ve woken up in the night, listening for you. Searching in the darkness, as if I might have dreamt the entire thing. I keep waiting for the nightmare to end, but it never does. I have gone back through every moment – every second of that day, trying to search for a reason, or a sign that doesn’t exist. Trying to grant myself an explanation – but the truth is, there won’t ever be one. Not one that makes any of this okay. We were nothing more than extremely unlucky. I’m not sure at what point the universe looked down on us and decided to toss this coin in, but we were never going to be on the winning side. There was only a 0.05% chance of SIDS happening to us… and that alone is a fact that causes me such anger – how careful we were with you. How the chance was so small, that even my anxieties didn’t believe it to be a threat. There is nothing I can say to what happened, except “What the fuck?”, because seriously, What the Fuck? Still, to this day, I keep waiting for the moment that I realize this was all just some big joke. That it didn’t really happen: we didn’t really lose you. And it never comes.

The weight never lets off, it never stops being heavy. I have racked my brain, search every detail, read ever article related to SIDS, and yet: In every way I try to have the day play out – it never changes the ending. It’s maddening, to lose you all over again each night. To hear the sirens, to hear my own voice call 911. I may not remember what I did yesterday, but I am not short on details when it comes to you.


It has been a hard year. To grieve such a monumental loss causes you to lose sight of the world around you. Richard and I spent a lot of time on completely different wavelengths – just trying to keep our heads above water. Trying to process this devastation. Trying to continue to move forward, despite everything that told us to quit. And the fact is, we grieve in very different ways. Which is not to say that either way is right, or better – it just made things so much harder to understand. Continuing forward was like trying to climb a mountain without any rope – with white-knuckles and a whole lot of cursing.

“I’d hold you every second, and say a million I love yous – that’s what I’d do, with one more day with you.” – Diamond Rio 

My heart aches for every moment you’ve missed. Every moment we’ve shared that you should’ve been a part of. And no matter how much time passes, that won’t ever change. There were so many wishes I had for you, so many dreams, and moments to share – I feel so extremely cheated by the universe. A year ago, I prayed more desperately than I ever have: I prayed to whoever might listen – hoping against all odds to be wrong. For some kind of miracle. I bargained with the universe, trying to give away anything but you. But the cards had already been played – And I cannot say that I’ve prayed since. I have nothing left to say that isn’t angry.

I have never been happier than the day you were born. The moment I held you in my arms the first time, completed my heart in a way I can’t describe. I had never understood how powerful love could be, until I watched my heart beat outside my body – and the world as I knew it melted away. Hearing you laugh for the first time was nothing short of amazing. Watching you grow, and have your personality shine through it all was precious. In losing you, my heart was torn from my chest – and it is still shattered.

I have slept with your blanket almost every night since you died. At first, it was because it smelled like you. And I would sob as I held onto it, as if it could bring you back to me. Now, it is more my own comfort piece – a way I feel safe. Like it somehow makes me closer to you. This morning, I took your box down from the shelf. I ran my hands across it, held your dress in my arms. Watched your videos despite my tears. Pulled out your photo album and took in every picture. It is almost like my own form of torture, I desperately wish to watch every moment we shared with you, but every moment I do tears my heart in pieces once more.

I miss your smile. Your laughter. I miss how bright you were – how much joy you brought to everything. I know how blessed we were to share those months with you, and I will forever be grateful for the girl who made me a mama. Addison, my love – you made my world such a brighter place. You filled a void I didn’t even know existed. And I will carry you with me, always. You will never be missing from our lives.

Love always, Mama

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