One year

It’s been a year since Lincoln passed away. A little over a year now that I’m finally posting this. I started this post and thought about it a lot in the past month, but couldn’t seem to get myself to finish it. Maybe I didn’t want to acknowledge it’s been a whole year since we lost Lincoln. I don’t understand how it’s possible.

This year on Lincoln’s angelversary we hung out as a family. We went to Lincoln’s spot at Spring Grove, had coffee and donuts and told Harrison about his big brother. We didn’t get to stay as long as we would have liked because Harrison isn’t really into doing anything for a long period of time, but I’ve talked to Lincoln a lot about how little brothers sometimes need extra attention so I think it’s ok.

I had a lot of flashbacks in the days leading up to Lincoln’s angelversary. Especially on that day. What I was doing one year ago at every hour. It’s funny how so many details of that day are so clear, when the following days are such a blur.

A lot of loss parents say they feel a shift in their grief after a year. Not necessarily that it gets better, but that it changes. I can see that. We’ve been through each anniversary and holiday once without Lincoln so we know what to expect. It’s not that the pain is less, it’s that we can better anticipate and prepare for the pain. So that’s….good, I guess? Another common thread among loss parents is that the dread of a holiday or anniversary is worse than the day itself, which I’ve found to be true. Maybe knowing what to expect will help a little bit with that.

I’ve also been warned that others’ feelings about my grief will change. People in the loss community talk a lot about this. People won’t understand why I’m not “moving on” or “getting over it”. I can see that as well because my feelings about my grief have changed. I sometimes find myself being less kind to myself, thinking I should be doing better. Then I remember my baby died. I almost never say it like that. I say Lincoln passed away, or that we lost him. To say that he’s dead feels so harsh. But that’s what happened. He died. He’s been dead for a year. And sometimes I have to say it like that to myself to remind myself of the magnitude of what happened. I’ll never “move on” or “get over it”, and that’s ok. It’s ok to have a bad day. It’s ok to have a bad week. All I can expect of myself is to do the best I can.

I understand there are some people who will find my grief to be too much and that’s ok, too. They won’t understand why we talk about Lincoln to Harrison. They’ll disagree with mine and John’s decision to always include Lincoln in our answer to the question “How many kids do you have?” even if it makes people uncomfortable. They won’t understand why the Lincoln Classic is so important to us. And I’m coming to terms with that.

The wonderful thing is that after a year there are still people in our lives who are there for us. Even if they don’t understand, they’re there. And that’s what I want to focus on this year. The people who love Lincoln and love us. Those people are wonderful.

So, that’s that. It’s been a year. We love you, Lincoln. We miss you every day. Come visit any time you want.