I have this vision of a bare tree, where all the big beautiful lush leaves are surrounding the tree on the ground and all the branches are broken off. All that’s left is the huge tree trunk body. That’s how it feels when life shakes you to your very core. That’s how I felt when I lost Harper. All the sudden, it seemed that everything I had built and worked so hard vanished in a split-second like a bomb exploded right in the middle of my life. The grief was so raw that I felt completely naked. I had absolutely no resilience, I could break down at any time. Leaving the house? Not an option. I was scared to even let my husband leave the house. And when I did go out, I felt like everyone was staring at me. Like I was naked. I was the bare tree.
Slowly, much more slowly than I would have liked, my life started to rebuild. One branch at a time. One leaf at a time. Only this time, I was very careful about which branches I let blossom. The first time: going to the grocery store, picking my son up from school, attending a family function, attending a birthday party, going back to work, all of these firsts felt like enormous events at the time. But I did them. With a lot of intention, I honored my beautiful daughter by rebuilding my life one step at a time. I was terrified that the tree would never blossom again, and here I am, 2 years and 3 months later, and the tree is fuller than ever. The roots are deeper, the branches are longer and the leaves are brighter. I honor Harper everyday by allowing her light to shine through me.