sacramental pizza + remembering the day before

We had our sacramental meal. It was hard, in the way this stuff can be. There's that moment, that breath, that pause, that digging deep. And then the push, and we do the unthinkable - light a candle for our dead babies. Write their names. Read the sympathy cards over again. Sit around the table with what's left of our family and think about it, talk about it together. It is hard.

I pulled it off, quietly. It was not so bad. I did not collapse under the weight. My adorable people voted for homemade pizza for dinner. ("Something we can make together, put our energy into it," says Brian.) It was hearty, delicious, and eaten by candlelight.















I set up a little altar in the dining room, and Lilly contributed some love doodles.












Lilly also picked out a balloon to release. I was bound and determined to do a balloon release from our big backyard. But all afternoon the rain came down, all night the wind howled, truly, like a banshee. But in the morning we had a patch of blue sky, and Lilly woke me up, and we got our balloon airborne (and then stuck in a tree, and then stuck in another tree, and then airborne again!). Such is the way of balloons.

On the other side of our meal I feel better. This was a big reminder of why rituals are so important. It's because they work. They get the job done. No matter what happens for the rest of the weekend, my baby has been remembered and honored by the people who love her most, knew her the best. And I feel good about having done something good for both kids.

Although Angel's birthday is officially tomorrow (she was born 1 second after midnight), today is the one year anniversary of the worst thing ever. I'm staying in, laying low, drinking cocoa, watching the snow. Thank you all for the suggestions and love and listening in these hard days. It means so much to me to have a space to share words freely with those who understand.