Posted by on Dec 2, 2014 in Life After Phoenix | 2 Comments

Every morning I wake up with the same thought.” My baby is dead.” I get up and look at her door, sometimes I go in and tell her how much I miss her. Right now, her room is in this strange transition of storage of her clothes and toys and a little remembrance room. Her ashes are in there along with pictures, flowers, stuffed animals, cards people sent me, and little figurines that remind me of her. Her crib isn’t in there anymore. Little Brother has it. It wasn’t until we got the cause of death that I realized how much anger I felt towards it. Before she passed he was going to have the crib and she was going to get a big girl bed. After she passed, I didn’t want him near it. I was told to reframe it. “It isn’t Phoenix’s crib, it is the family crib.” Easier said than done. But, now I can reframe it. Now, I am not angry at the crib.

I have the same thought every morning. There are mornings that I can push through and feed Little Brother with a smile. Others – he gets a little shower of tears. The weight of her loss is always felt, but some days it is heavier. The heart ache is physical. It physically feels like my heart has been broken into a million pieces. The pain is so intense, at times, that I think I will be crushed by it. Somehow, I am not. The world keeps spinning, as much as I protest. I pray every night that I will wake up from this terrible nightmare. That in the morning my first thought isn’t “my baby is dead.” but rather, I need to go make her oatmeal.

Good morning merry sunshine. How did you wake so soon? You've scarred the little stars away, and shone away the moon.

Good morning merry sunshine. How did you wake so soon? You’ve scarred the little stars away, and shone away the moon.



  1. Jen Tufts
    December 2, 2014

    You are beautiful. My heart aches for your broken heart. I keep thinking – Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted. The mourning is too terrible – maybe I shouldn’t even type this? It’s all too terrible, but I pray that the promise of comfort gives you hope.

  2. Margaret Meder
    December 2, 2014

    Dear Beth,

    Your words speak for me. Thank you.

    How I wish we could just wake up. I know our children are close at hand, even if we can’t see them right now.l

    I wish you and I lived closer together.

    About this time last year I was connected to two women, who wanted to volunteer their decorating talents, friendship. They call themselves, Healing by Design. We worked for about two months transforming Evan’s room into Evan’s Guest Room. We put his favorite Hot Wheels cars into a big jar. Stacked his favorite books prominently. His toys are still in his closet, but I had a strong feeling yesterday that he wants me to give them away. We all use it as a family creativity room. Jonathan practices his cello in there. I have a writing table and sewing alcove. I know Evan is delighted that he is remembered this way every time we go in there. I’m sure he is ecstatic when we actually have guests who sleep in there! Sometimes, when I have too many projects going in there, I imagine he is saying, “Messy, messy, messy. Clean this room up!” And I do.

    I created a series of signs: first, “Evan’s Guest Room”, then a sign saying “Believe”, next “I Know”, and now in process of making one for “Love” Love is the reason Evan came to us, and the single reason we all exist – to express / share / love.

    Sending you love right now. xx Margaret


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