364 days ago, it was sunny.

It was beautiful. I biked to therapy that morning. The sky was blue, and my heart was full.

Scott and I went to our neighborhood pool and tried out our great new floaties. I was so happy that day. Six years since Patrick had died, I became deeply grateful for the calm and the peace and the happiness that we regularly enjoyed at that time.

Then, suddenly, all of it was gone.

The worst part is that no thing took her from me. She took herself from me.

* * * *

Getting to today feels like such an enormous accomplishment. We often tell one another, in unfathomable seasons, “I don’t know how you do it,” but the truth is that you just have to. There isn’t another option.

Surviving through the first year, somehow, brings an element of relief. We did it.

I wish we didn’t have to.

It’s tragic.

It’s the type of tragic that takes one’s breath away and brings us to our knees.

It’s pain that cloud’s one’s brain and makes us reconceptualize every element of our lives.

It’s the stress that manifests in every cell of one’s body and brings weakened immune systems.

It’s the irritability, it’s the sensitivity, it’s the shortness of breath, it’s so much.

* * * *

I’m proud of myself and I’m proud of Luke and I’m proud of Sawyer and I’m proud of my Daddy — those who have dared to live.

I’m proud of Karley and of Carrie and of Scott. I’m proud of my mother’s close friends.

We have survived horror, twice.

I am proud of us for facing the horror each day. I’m proud of us for going to work and for making dinner and for traveling and for doing every mundane and stupid and essential task when our hearts feel like they’ve been ripped from our chests and our minds are filled with chaos.

We lost a universe where my Momma lived, and we continue to lose every day.

* * * *

I loved my Mommy.

I still cry out for her in the middle of the night.

I still wake up almost every day at 3 am, sweating and panicked.

I still barely have the energy to get out of bed.

I still ache, always, in every way.

I loved my Mommy, and I always will.

But it doesn’t matter how much I loved my Mommy: I can’t feel her love from the grave she made.