07/09/2026
7 years. 7 years since I learned of your death. It’s interesting the way grief and trauma evolve over time.
For so long, I wasn’t capable of experiencing joy. Not the way I once did. All I could hold, feel, and exude was grief. It was all I had the capacity for.
But somewhere along the way, something shifted.
I gave birth to two more beautiful children. I found my true calling in birth work. My relationship became the strongest it has ever been. My life expanded again.
And somewhere in all of that… I stopped feeling my daughter. I could intellectualize the f**k out of my trauma. Let’s be real, I’m very good at that. But I stopped feeling it in my body. I felt numb. Disconnected. Some days it almost felt like I’d dreamed the whole thing. I diminished the sacred bond between us because how could I grieve someone I never got to know?
Last night, I attended a breathwork ceremony guided by my beautiful friend,
For the first time in a long time, I felt her.
My daughter. My Nona Rae.
I remembered not just the physical memories of her dancing inside my womb or the weight of her body in my arms. I remembered her energy. Because of course I know her. I know her in the deepest way one human can know another. I carried her life inside my own. I held her through her transition with my own breath. Whether it was a spiritual contract or whatever the hell you believe, I know this: I chose her, and she chose me.
During this breathwork ceremony I cried the deepest tears I’ve ever known. But I also laughed. I smiled.
Because I remembered.
She was real. She is real.
Her death, her stillbirth, is no longer something that happened to me. It is something she and I experienced together. And now, finally, I can feel both joy and grief at the same time instead of simply knowing they can coexist.
I can dance with tears rolling down my face, aching to hold you in my arms, because I am yours and you are mine.
How lucky am I to know a love that transcends space, time, and every dimension between us
