One year from now. I haven’t been able to sit down and write this. My sense of time is not right. One year from now doesn’t exist. One year from losing Kayla doesn’t exist, even though I am steadily marching towards it every second. I’m crying just trying to imagine one year from today, afraid that if I dream too big my heart will get broken again.
Even though I’m scared, I’m still hopeful about the next year. I can’t help it. Hope is the last thing to die. I hope I can get pregnant again. In the back of my mind I hopefully consider that we may have a living baby one year from now. If that is the case I hope I will be able to quit my job and be basking in my role as a stay at home mom this time next year. But I can’t let myself hope too much, because I also know that may not happen. A year from now I may be living a completely different live than I envision today.
I hope my husband and I are still loving each other deeply, and maybe we’ll be wrapped up in moving and packing, preparing for our move to Brazil. Our house will be done.
I hope I keep writing and finding other creative outlets for my grief. I hope I continue working out and being healthier. I hope my life will be filled with friendship, laughter, and joy.
In Portuguese the verb “esperar” means “to wait” and “to hope.” ESPERO means both I wait and I hope. So many meanings in one special yet very common word. So that is what I chose for my word to get me through this first year of grief. I am waiting and hoping at the same time. To wait, to be patient, to live the life that I have right now. To hope, to let myself plan for the future, to let myself dream. Waiting to heal, waiting to get pregnant, waiting to see what life has in store for me. Waiting with hope.
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| Espero: hoping and waiting |
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| FAMILY: I also did "family" because I was having fun! |
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