Meet the McNeil Family

Meet the McNeil Family

Monday, March 20, 2017

How To Get Through Hospice

I had multiple conversations with people recently about what was helpful for our family whilst Waverly was on hospice. I thought this could be a beneficial post for many of you.

For Friends
1. Meal delivery is such a fantastic way to help. However, many families don't have the time or energy to chat with visitors. Setting up a cooler on the front porch is a great system. People can fill the cooler with food and then text the family saying a meal was just delivered. (We had my cell number written on a paper taped to the cooler lid.)
2. In addition to meals, we had friends bring paper products - plates, utensils, napkins, cups, etc. Not super environmental, but it certainly was nice to just toss stuff after each meal. 
3. Get creative! When setting up a meal train it is nice to get information on food allergies and aversions. The family is going to get a lot of lasagna and chili, so try something new. Also take out from a favorite restaurant is a nice treat. Or just bring snack type items - crackers, cheese, cut up fruit, etc. Having small bites at the ready is so helpful.
4. Fill the house with flowers. I love the fragrance and the beauty flowers provide. And it doesn't have to be a pricey arrangement. We had fresh tulips when Waverly was on hospice and I still buy myself a bunch to brighten the house.
5. Coffee, cupcakes and ice cream can be delivered. Get together with some friends and ship some special treats if you aren't local and able to deliver a meal.

For Families
Don't be afraid to create boundaries for yourself. We ended up hanging a sign on our door asking people not to knock or ring the doorbell. We were focusing on our daughter and couldn't take visitors.  Even our UPS man and postman knew to just leave packages for us; we would find them. People want to come to say goodbye or to check in on you. Take it moment by moment. Set time limits. When you are in the midst of chaos, it is nice to be able to control some things.

Accept help and try to remember that most people have very good intentions. People are sad and you are in the strange position of grieving and comforting those around you. There are those who want to "cling on". I think some people find purpose in your tragedy. Blow them off. 

As difficult as it is, try to be specific with needs. We needed people to help us drive Oliver back and forth to school. We also needed help with raking leaves at the end of autumn. Thankfully we had two friends act as gate keepers for us. They fielded questions and requests. If I needed milk from the grocery store, an email was sent out to those who wanted to help. Soon after I would get a text saying milk was in the cooler. It was incredibly helpful.

I felt a lot of pressure to thank everyone. I realized that I could not possibly keep up. A quick reply text sufficed. Plus my gatekeeper organizer friends were forward thinking, reminding everyone with each message just how grateful we were.

These certainly don't apply to everyone and are only meant as suggestions. I would say don't pop by unexpectedly. A text or a note is a much less intrusive way to say you are thinking of them. Anything you can do to express your love will be appreciated.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

16 Months and One Day

The second year is more difficult, they said. I couldn't imagine it could possibly be more painful than they rawness of those first few weeks. When the tears were constantly flowing and my chest felt like it would collapse from the heartache. I am still not sure it is more difficult, but it certainly is different.

I go about my routine and although Waverly is always present in my thoughts, my mind knows she has died. I no longer glance into my mirror and expect to see her smiling face. My internal alarm clock no longer goes off at 9:30 reminding me to hook up her feeding pump for her overnight meal. Yet I still stutter when asking for a table for three.

When grief descends, it comes like a fog. Rolling in from the distance, I can see it approach and feel the change. Ominous and oppressive, it takes it's hold and settles in. For a while I find comfort in it. I can hide and burrow, allowing myself to feel. Moody.

I am in the fog now. I have dear friends dealing with serious complications from Sanfilippo. A friend's daughter passed away this week. I find myself back there, in the weeks before Waverly died remembering the awfulness of death. The tension of wanting her suffering to end, but knowing that losing her would be utter devastation.

And as I sit in this fog, I see Oliver. Clearly. And I panic. 

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

A Continuation

Another child passed away this morning from Sanfilippo Syndrome. I have never met the family, but we have exchanged messages through the years. We have liked one another's photos on Facebook. We have connected through the keyboard many times. My heart breaks for them.

My most recent blog post was about grief and social media. I suppose this is going to become a continuation. The internet and especially Facebook has allowed communities to spring up. Families affected by rare diseases have found one another online. We can share tips on medication or equipment, the best diapers for overnight, exchange items our children have outgrown. Through all of these posts and messages, relationships form. Friendships are made and connections deepen with those you find common ground.

I am so thankful for those women who have gone from profile pics to true friends. We text and call one another. We have vacationed together and met for dinner whilst passing through towns. We show up for special events. And we are there to mourn together.

It is risky to enter into these communities. Not only do I have to watch the disease ravage my two children, I also have to see it ravage my friends' kids. Girls and boys I have grown to love over the years succumb to the disease and I grieve. And each time I am faced with grieving Waverly all over again.

As a form of self-protection I limit my contact with newly diagnosed families. It is not because I don't care, but rather I am not sure my heart can take bonding with another terminally ill child. It hurts to watch another family suffer.

So this is another public service announcement for those entrenched in rare disease. It is okay to say enough. It is okay to retreat and put up some barriers. Protect your heart. This journey is difficult enough.

Monday, March 6, 2017

Social Media and Grief

I have been thinking a lot about social media from the prospective of a grieving mother. I have been talking with several different Sanfilippo families, some of whom have a child who has passed away and others who have a child in the throws of the disease. I am not sure how fruitful this post may be, but I am hoping it can provide some reassurance to someone out there.

I have always been one to share our experiences. It is therapeutic for me to write about my feelings, allowing them to flow out and see where they guide me. It is also a beautiful journal that I have been able to delve back into the years prior and reflect on all I have learned and how I have changed. I also hope our story can help others on the rare disease journey and now on the grief journey.

The year before Waverly died I drastically changed the way I shared on this blog and via my social media platforms. She became very sick with the flu and I could see in her, even after her recovery, that she didn't have much time left on this earth. My mom gut was raging, prompting me to prepare for her passing. We did many things. Met with our doctors to have a DNR order in place, spoke with the priests at our church about funeral plans, and I also changed the way I shared about her. I turned inward and wanted to be very protective of her. This was her journey and my job as her mother was to walk with her through it from beginning to end.

I wanted to honor her privacy and personhood. I began by purging my friends list on Facebook. I wanted to be surrounded by actual friends. I had seen other children's passings as theater at times. I have a blog and a Facebook page to share things with those on the periphery. I could post in support groups as needed. However I felt the need to pull in, almost like nesting before giving birth. I wanted to create the safest and calmest space for what was going to become the darkest of time.

I also began sharing photos of Waverly that didn't show the way the disease was ravaging her. There were more photos of her beautiful hands gripping a toy, her feet crossed in her fuzzy colorful socks, her shadow on the sidewalk after a long walk in the neighborhood. Still describing the symptoms, but allowing my words to create the picture.

Those of you who read the blog know that it took me a year to share what her final day on earth was like. I wanted to hold that like a precious secret in my heart. And I still have details that are mine alone.

It wasn't right nor wrong. It was a choice I made. And I am so thankful I did. It was what I needed. It was what she needed.

All of this to say, as I watch fellow families deal with those Latter Days. Create a safe space for yourself and be cognizant of the fact that this is about your child. Retreat, share, delete, unfriend, post photos - do whatever is best for your mental health and heart. You have some control in the journey.

Friday, February 17, 2017


These thoughts have been rolling around in my head this last week and I had to put them down on paper. Please forgive my elementary attempt at hermeneutics. 


Joy and Sorrow has become the theme of my life. Two simple words to describe such complexity. It is the reason I love the movie "Inside Out". A revelation that joy cannot exist alone, it requires sadness to be relevant. Even at Waverly's funeral, my dear friend and pastor, gave a homily with this idea as a primary focus.

Many years ago when Waverly & Oliver were diagnosed I was angry (still am at times, don't get me wrong). My ability to pray was destroyed. I didn't want to pray for a cure. It felt hollow and naive. Genetics has played its part and there was nothing we could do to change that. I cringe when people say they pray for healing. I would ask instead they pray for strength, comfort, clarity, sleep, wisdom. This thought isn't to get in a theological debate about God's omnipotence.

As I was coping with diagnosis and a ferocious amount of anger, a very wise friend reminded me to keep the communication route open with God. She told me to cry, scream, and wail - He would understand. Years later, lots of twists and turns, wrestling with my faith, I find myself so grateful for that advice.

I was recently at a retreat. The speaker referenced the verses Romans 8:26, 27. It resonated with me and took me back to those dark days. 

"Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God." - Romans 8:26, 27 The Message

As I sat there staring at these beautiful verses , it occurred to me that instead of being reminded of this powerful message, I was constantly told to sit on the following verse, Romans 8:28. This is a verse that anyone who has darkened the door of a church has heard. And in my opinion it is one of the verses that can be used to belittle sorrow and shame hurt.

"That's why we can be so sure that every detail if our lives of love for God is worked into something good. " - Romans 8:28 The Message

I am in no way a biblical scholar. I haven't spent time studying Greek. But I have been in the church my entire life. And while I have learned songs, memorized the verse and heard countless referenced to "all things work together for good to them that love the Lord"; I have rarely seen the inclusion of the verses prior.

For years my prayers were wordless sighs, aching groans from the depths. And that is ok.

Monday, February 13, 2017

Hospital Packing List

I have been asked twice in the last few weeks about a hospital packing list. I keep a running list based on our experiences and I thought I would share it. I hope you find it helpful. Let me know if you can think of other items to add.

For Your Child
- Comfy pjs (nightgown if wearing diapers)
- Warm socks/slippers
- Favorite toy/stuffy/blanket
- iPad or portable DVD player
- Toiletry kit
- Personal diapers/pull-ups
- Sippy cup
- Favorite snacks
- Change of clothes
- List of medications (you don't have the bring the meds unless asked to; the hospital will supply daily meds whilst in the hospital)
- Lip balm
- Body lotion

For You
- Change of clothes x 2+ (I have been vomited on post-anesthesia many times)
- PJs that you won't be too embarrassed to be seen in; robe
- Slippers or flip-flops
- Cash for vending machines
- Favorite snacks
- Gum or mints
- Something to do whilst waiting (book, knitting, coloring, notecards, etc.)
- Pen and paper to write down questions or instructions ; also consider audio recording on your phone instructions if you feel overwhelmed
- Toiletries
- Towels - hospital towels are notoriously thin and scratchy
- Ear buds

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Past Tense

In the many phases that are grief I have discovered I no longer stutter over is. Waverly was. It is becoming easier for the word was to float off my tongue with all of its heaviness. I still flinch when I hear it, but it is part of my vocabulary.

I no longer confuse her name with Oliver's or Watson's. It isn't said as often and is spoken more reverently, memorialized. I speak to her often. Each morning I enter her room and open her blinds, greeting her with a simple quip. Her room is still her room, even though our desk is now there and most of her furniture is gone. Her name is still emblazoned on the wall in bright pink. Her favorite toys are displayed on her bookshelf.

Instead of the content deluge of reminders that she is no longer here, there are moments. Today I caught a glimpse of one of her princess dolls that I keep in the diaper bag. Oliver likes to hold them, so I keep one next to his football. All of a sudden the emotions tumbled forth and I ached to pass that princess back to her soft little hands. 

Thursday, January 19, 2017

A Dream

Yesterday morning I woke up before dawn to the sound of Waverly. It was a laugh she had that would morph into a cry, especially in the mornings if she was stiff or lonely. I was dreaming and she roused me from sleep. I sat up and for a millisecond thought it was really her; as if the last 14 months were a dream. Oliver was sound asleep and while very similar, they do not sound the same at all. I had the strangest feeling all day. Rationally knowing it was not her, but secretly wishing it were real. However why the cry at the end? Why a reminder of the pain that was?

It was the 18th. Exactly 14 months since she left this earth.

Waverly is becoming a dream. I vividly remember her. I can still smell her when I open her closet and hold some of her favorite dresses or hug a special stuffed animal. I can see her face in photos in nearly every room in our home. I can hear her laugh when I replay a video on my phone. But I no longer call Oliver Waverly. Or Watson Waverly. I don't go into her room expecting to see her bed. When I open up the drawers in Oliver's room, I am no longer surprised to see Ollie's clothing in them. 

Many of the minute daily reminders have faded. And I miss that they have faded; I am aware of their absence. The dull ache that occasionally roars to the surface is ever present, always with me.

Friday, January 6, 2017

Double Digits

Sweet little Oliver turned 10 years old on December 30th. Double digits are a big deal. His birthday often gets lost in the midst of the holidays. This time Matt took off for the day and we tried to do some things he loves. We started at our favorite bakery and filled him with mixed berry croissants and maple doughnuts. Then lots of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse combined with snuggles on the couch. I made a pot roast and my parents joined us for dinner. We ended the day with his favorite - ice cream.

I have written about the difficulties of birthdays for years. Most parents want time to slow down, but those of us raising children with life limiting illnesses especially want to savor each moment and pause time. As much as I want to celebrate Ollie turning ten years old, I also mourn another year passing.

Our son with an old soul is slowing down. He isn't walking as far as he used to. He would rather snuggle on the couch than bounce around in front of the tv. And his swallowing is deteriorating so much so that I see us utilizing his g-tube sooner rather than later. When he gives you eye contact, he looks straight into your soul. He is my gentle giant.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016


Christmas has always been difficult for me since the kids' were diagnosed. Initially I tried to push the sorrow away with sparkling lights and gifts. However as Waverly & Oliver's disease progressed, their interest in the holiday diminished. Oliver hasn't shown any interest in presents for years, he doesn't notice the Christmas lights and I don't think he spotted the Christmas tree. Our life gets quiet as those around get so busy with preparations. 

We attended Christmas Eve service and (thank to his iPad), Oliver sat through the entire service. We decided to go to Founding Farmers for dinner. It had been a tradition in the past to go there and then walk to see the National Christmas Tree. We had a lovely dinner and it felt comforting to be surrounding by tables of other families celebrating the holiday together. Christmas night we took Oliver to Meadowlark to walk through the gardens and see the lights. It was a wonderful way to close out the day and I think it will become a new family tradition.

Monday, December 19, 2016


“There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone dear to us, and one should not even attempt to do so. One must simply hold out and endure it. At first that sounds very hard, but at the same time it is also a great comfort. For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled one remains connected to the other person through it.
It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness. God in no way fills it but much more leaves it precisely unfilled and thus helps us preserve—even in pain—the authentic relationship. Furthermore, the more beautiful and full the remembrances, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude transforms the torment of memory into silent joy. One bears what was lovely in the past not as a thorn but as a precious gift deep within, a hidden treasure of which one can always be certain.”
― Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I shared the above quote on December 18th of 2015, exactly one month after Waverly passed away. My hope was in this sentiment. Days were dark and filled with pain, but I was also cognizant of the silent joy filling the crevices. As heartbroken as I was, it was an absolute honor to be Waverly's mom. She filled my life with love and happiness. Walking through her final weeks, as her body failed her, I found beauty. What a privilege it was to be by her side, holding her hand as she passed from this life into the next.

Last night at church on this 4th Sunday of Advent, our priest talked about JOY. And he said something near the end of his sermon that resonated deeply. In fact I had to find him afterwards to get the quote exactly right, because I was unable to jot it down fast enough. David said, "Joy is not the removal of everything that causes you pain. Joy is knowing that there is one who has resolved to be with you in it and superintend for your good."

This has been a theme. From watching "Inside Out" with Waverly in the theater a few years ago and her laughing when one of the characters sacrifices himself for a friend. (I on the other hand was ugly crying at this particular moment.) To Waverly's funeral when my friend, David spoke about the intermingling of sorrow and hope, grief and joy.

I am still processing, still learning new truths. I think by experiencing one of life's horrors, I am fully able to experience the true essence of joy.

Monday, December 5, 2016

Looking Back

It's another day of "one year ago today". December 5th loomed on the calendar. It will always be the day our family and friends gathered to celebrate and honor Waverly's short, yet full life. 

I threw myself into planning and wanted to be sure each detail was well thought out. We had some extra time since we opted to delay her funeral because of Thanksgiving. Our Anglican church tradition provided us with a beautiful service which we had acquainted ourselves with in the weeks before her death. We selected scriptures which spoke to our spirit. Our dear friend, Adam, was going to play classical guitar and he learned a long list of her favorite songs. Hearing the theme song to "Elmo's World" and "Baby of Mine" on classical guitar was absolutely amazing! I made a slide show of my favorite Wavey pictures and selected flowers to fill the space with color and beauty. Matt spent weeks refining his eulogy, determined to deliver it which he did. That moment is the proudest I have ever been of him. I wrote Wavey a letter, with the help of my talented friend, Laura, who put my jumbled thoughts together in a poetic way. And we had years before asked one of my oldest friends, David, to give the homily. His words were honest, acknowledging our grief and sadness, whilst providing hope.

The moment pictured above was the most special. Nathan, one of our pastors, was giving the commendation. He was with us to give Waverly her first communion only weeks before she passed away and there with us 3 days before she died to perform the Holy Unction (similar to last rites). Our pastors laid their hands on her urn and he prayed, "Receive her into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light."

That moment in and of itself was powerful to me. Looking back after a year of wondering and worrying, fearing the unknown of heaven and hoping for truth, I find comfort in that small yet mighty prayer. My arms ache to hold her. I long for her to rest and be free of pain, to be released from the hold of Sanfilippo. And all I want for her is to be surrounded by love and light.

I haven't discussed my faith often on this blog. Mostly because I am still trying to figure it out. It has ebbed and flowed in my life. Wavey was the catalyst to get me back in a church community and she led us to a beautiful place of love and friendship. I think it was her way of looking out for Matt and I, to make sure we were taken care of and surrounded with support. 

A year ago today Matt and I greeted hundreds of people who came to Waverley's funeral. We were able to thank people who have supported us and hear ways in which Wavey had impacted their lives. We felt loved. And we were filled with pride for our little girl and all she accomplished in 12 years. It was a lovely day.

Thanks to Ellen for taking this picture along with many others. They are treasured.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

One Year

Waverly's *anniversary* was November 18th. I cannot believe one full year has passed. Each moment of the first 365 days I was consumed with the thought of what I was doing one year before. Now when I look back a year ago each day I was without her. It is been a significant shift in my thinking. I no longer focus on what was and lately I been focusing on the loss. It may seem like a minute change in semantics, but for my grief process it has been monumental.

The lead up to the one year mark was horrendous. The actual day was a mess of emotion. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I was anxious and unsure of how to fill my time, as if there was a correct way to honor the significance of that day. We took Oliver out of school and went to our favorite bakery. We took a walk in the woods, because Waverly loved being among the trees. And we went to one of her favorite restaurants for dinner.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Her Last Full Day

Last night as I climbed into bed anticipating Friday, I was overcome with emotion. Today, November 17th, was Waverly's last full day on earth. She was present for the sun rise and set for the final time. It broke me.

She hadn't opened her eyes for days and we knew her final breath could come at any moment. However I was able to complete my motherly routine that day to the fullest. Administering medications, bathing her, dressing her, reading to her, singing to her. We stopped moving her around from room to room because her body was sore and with each repositioning we feared we were causing her pain. We spent the day in her room. Propped her up in her bed, with pillows to prevent additional bed sores. 

Bed sores were the worst part of the process. Inevitable, no matter how much you try. But I felt as if I had failed her. I couldn't stop her body from shutting down and revolting against my best efforts.

Waverly's geneticist stopped by on her way to the airport. She was grateful for one more visit with one of her favorite patients. And our amazing hospice nurse came by, signaling that the time was near but Wavey had proven to be a fighter and was going to follow her own path. It was our job to follow her lead. I wonder if she knew that day as she said goodbye and told us she would be back the following day that it was the end.

I remember Oliver was at Jill's House, so it was just Matt and I. We camped out in Waverly's room, unable to concentrate on reading or writing. We felt we had said all we could say to one another and to Waverly. We couldn't force any other profound moments. I remember turning on the iPad and watching an episode of Judge Judy. How stupid to have watched a ridiculous show in that moment, but we were exhausted in every possible way.

I remember as we laid her down in our bed that night, so I could sleep next to her and Matt slept on a mattress on the other side of her, I cried and said what I had been unable to say at any other point. It was time. Her body was failing her and it crushed me. We finally verbalized that she could go.

We never fully slept. I tended to stay up late into the night, unable to rest unable my eyes could no longer stay open. Matt was able to fall asleep, but would awake early waiting for the sun to rise again. We make a very good team. In the midst of tossing and turning, alarms would go off signaling us to administer medication.

And as soon as the darkness was chased away by the rising sun, she took her final breath. Choosing a moment when both Matt and I weren't staring at her. She had a momentary break and that is when she was called home. A morning when Oliver was being loved and cared for by the staff at Jill's House. He didn't have to listen to the screams from the depths of our souls that only a parent who loses a child can allow to escape.

In that instant our lives changed. Our identities changed. We were before and after.

Tuesday, November 15, 2016


Today is Waverly's 13th birthday. I have been anticipating it for such a long time and felt helpless the entire day. I just couldn't quite figure out what I was supposed to be doing. Wailing, celebrating, baking her favorite cake, volunteering my time. Nothing felt right and everything felt wrong.

My morning was routine since Oliver has standing OT and PT appointments. After I dropped him off at school, I popped into Target. I love giving gifts. I decided that in honor of Wavey Inspires, I would buy some of her favorite books and DVDs to donate to Jill's House. I put together a bag full of items and dropped them off this afternoon with Oliver. I hope the gifts bring them joy.

Matt and I went out to one of our favorite little restaurants. We sat in the corner by the fireplace and enjoyed some time together. We toasted Waverly 13th birthday and I shed a few tears. We ended the night early because we are both emotionally exhausted.

Last year on this day I remember praying that should would make it through. I stayed up until midnight to make sure she would see another day. We truly didn't know if she would. I remember our pastor coming over that afternoon to preform the Anointing of the Sick sacrament (similar to the last rites). I laid in bed next to her as Matt, my mom and step-dad stood around our priest. It was a beautiful moment.

Thanks to those of you who sent emails, texts, messages, for the flowers and the balloons and the cheesecake. For the photos of you wearing purple and for sharing the ways Wavey has touched your lives.

Today I tried to focus on celebration. Waverly loved birthdays and nothing make her smile more than hearing "Happy Birthday" being sung. I hope she was surrounded by those who love her and heard the happy birthday song sung twice (as she preferred). 

Happy Birthday, dear Waverly. Happy Birthday to you.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Blackbird Fly

This is my souvenir from our time in Portland. I have been wanting a tattoo that represents Waverly since she passed away. Blackbirds form a connection for us, yellow and purple are her colors. 

"Take these broken wings and learn to fly. You were only waiting for this moment to be free."


The calendar has turned and November has arrived. I have been anticipating this month for a year. Since Waverly passed away on November 18th, I remember wondering how I will survive without her.  Those first hours and days I was in constant counting mode - 4 hours since she died, 3 days, one week, a month. Wednesdays were painful and each 18th of the month crushed me.  And now I find myself days away from the one year mark. 

I have retreated the past few days. I read through my blog posts of her final weeks. Each morning I systematically check the On This Day section of facebook to see what I was feeling and what we were doing. It all happened so fast. My instincts were heightened for months that something was wrong. However reading my words I see that I couched my fears, hid them deep within the sentences.

 I miss her.

Friday, October 21, 2016

Go West, Young Man

We took a trip to the Pacific Northwest. We have been dreaming of taking this vacation for years and were finally able to make it happen. It was beautiful. The natural beauty found in that part of the country makes it easy to understand their population boom. Plus the food! We had some of the best donuts, coffee and micro brews we have ever had. Some of our highlights, aside from visiting family, were the Chihuly Museum in Seattle, seeing Mount Rainier, Multnomah Falls and the amazing Cannon Beach in Oregon. Memories were made. Bucket list item checked off.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

11 Months

It's been 11 months today.

It is unimaginable to me that it has been so long since I heard her breathing. I have been feeling quite numb the past few weeks. We took a trip to the Pacific Northwest and it provided a beautiful escape. It was a chance to see loved ones and take in the beauty of that part of the country. Mountains draw me in and a day spent by the sea was cleansing.

As we arrived back in DC Saturday night I could feel the cloak of grief begin to pull over me. The weight was especially startling. It's always there, but being home make it so much more pronounced. The pressure of my grief grounds me. I find comfort in it.

We are entering into a difficult phase. We are reliving the days of one year ago and we are able to process them in a whole new light of distance and understanding. Birthdays are approaching and the one year anniversary is standing out in the distance waiting to envelop me.

I miss her. I miss everything about her. Her smell is fading from her toys and clothes. Her room has changed and reflects who used to be. I no longer look in my rearview mirror expecting to see her warm smile. Yet I cannot believe she is gone, never to return. The finality of it all doesn't seem real.

She has sent me a few signs though. Blackbirds have started to appear, especially when I am talking to her and thinking of her. They are her little message to her mommy.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Hoping For Signs

I have been struggling lately. I no longer feel Waverly's spirit around me. I like to imagine that she is off exploring or visiting other loved ones in her life. Maybe she, the ever devoted big sister, is staying near to Oliver at the moment as he experiences some difficult changes. But I miss her, both physically and spiritually.

I hope to feel her again. To hear her whisper in the songs of birds or the ringing of the wind chimes. To sense her presence holding my hand when I am too exhausted to take another step. I hope she will begin to visit me in my dreams, to send me little reminders that she is ever present.

Grief offers a unique perspective on the afterlife and what lies ahead. It can also provide immense comfort in the midst of unfathomable pain.