Death. So final. So unexpected. So incredibly devastating.

Although death may not always seem unexpected, there’s never a way to truly prepare your heart for the ache that’s to come with the space left of a missing loved one.

I find myself struggling through oceans of grief at the most unexpected times. I yearn for the memories that I wasn’t able to make with my son. I would give the world to hold him in my arms just one more time and memorize every feature of his perfect little life. I would tell him with every breath left in me about how deeply my love runs for him.

It’s been months since I’ve written; and for reasons I can’t quite explain. I always knew my life would be different after having a child, just not in this way. Here I sit on the edge of such wonderful new changes in my life. We’re about to become parents for a second time, we just closed on our first home, deployment is coming to an end in the months ahead … and yet, I still face this monster “grief”. It morphs into guilt and tears, I have days it presents itself as strength and determination, quite frankly, the only thing that seems to be constant about it is the way it always seems to change.

August 9th used to hold no real value for me – it was just another day that would eventually lead into the next. Now I sit and wonder on this ‘insignificant day’ what Tyler would be doing. What mile stone he would be hitting aside from turning another month older. Would he be talking, walking, and becoming his own little man? It’s a constant reminder of what I no longer have, what could have been, and what I feel as though should have been.

I’m excited about the fact that our daughter will know him. She’ll be raised around his photographs, his things, and always hear the stories we hold in our hearts that we were lucky enough to experience during his short time on this Earth. Deep down inside me, I know that she’ll have the best guardian angel always on her side to help her through all of life’s battles. So why am I so sad?

I have these awful moments where I feel so distant from Tyler. It’s as if no matter how hard I try I keep being pushed farther and farther away from his memory. My other loss mommas say it’s normal, yet it feels so unnatural in every way. It’s on days like today that my heart seems to break all over again. The days I yearn to feel him in some way, the days I visit him at the cemetery and am left only looking at a patch of grass instead of into his deep blue eyes, the days I question all over again why this had to happen to us, to HIM.

I fight for CHD awareness in all the ways I know how. However, some days I feel like I’m a nuisance to those around me, and on others I feel like I just simply don’t do enough. There are times when I feel drawn to becoming a mentor for other mommas walking the path we took roughly 18 months ago, to help them get through the ‘hard part’ that never quite seems to end. The truth of the matter is I’m scared. I’m afraid I won’t help but will continue living in this nightmare day in and day out for the remainder of my time here. I’m afraid that by allowing my sad days to consume me I won’t be the mom Abby will need me to be, the wife Billy wants, and the person who is even remotely capable of helping others.

I thought the person I became after losing Tyler was this strong woman capable of accomplishing anything. Lately, I just feel worn down and tired. I want my boy back, I want to show him his little sister when they lay her in my arms, I want to hold my little family so close and never let go. I want so many things that I’ll never have.

19 months ago a little heart came into this word, one that was oh so fragile. It changed so much and left a huge impact on those who knew of it. Tyler’s heart. Tyler’s Will. Tyler’s Love. Those are all things I pray that one day my own fragile heart is able to find again. I want to shine for my little man and be the momma he wants and needs of me – not only for him, but for his baby sister and our family. Please be patient with me in the coming months as there will be times I just simply don’t know what to say, or I may not know how to act. I’m nervous, I’m scared, I’m excited, I’m anxious, and I’m worried all wrapped into one.

I’m keeping my heart and my mind focused on what our bubba would have wanted, and giving it my all to pull through each day with a smile, for him. Until we meet again my little love. We’re always missing you. XO.