There’s something to be said about being cut off from the world completely for a week. This post will be scattered and disjointed, much like my brain. So please try to keep up.
The cruise was really great. A new adventure every day and something exciting always right around the corner. Waking up in a new place every morning. It was a week of much needed distraction, sunshine and adventure. I had fun. I even slept a little. But it wasn’t without its challenges. There were over 700 children on the ship. A lot of small babies. It made my heart ache. The first night in the dining room we got seated with a couple who were MAJOR religious folks, and when we told them about Everlee (they asked if we had kids) they told us they too had lost a baby they droned on and on about how it was God’s will and that we might not understand, but god does. Then the other couple we were with were 20 weeks pregnant. It was just not a good night. We moved tables the next day and got seated with two lovely couples around our age. It was a rough start.
There wasn’t a moment I didn’t think of my darling little girl. Every moment. Every experience. I just wanted her there so badly it ached. I vowed to myself that I would live life to the absolute fullest, because she could only live through me now. I want her to experience the world through me, so I have to try new things and go on adventures for her. It’s a thought that’s working for now, but I still can’t shake the guilt in being here. I still feel mad at myself for smiling. I posted a picture of myself on Facebook on our formal night on the ship:
The comments about how nice I looked and how great it was to see me smile made me feel awful. I have no idea why. I guess I just feel like I’m betraying Everlee somehow. Like I shouldn’t be allowed to smile yet. I miss her so much. But it’s nice to have the anonymity here. The anxiety has eased a little around crowds knowing that not everyone sees my dead little girl when they look at me here, but now thinking of going back makes me ill.
In Jamaica I found a tanzanite necklace and earrings set that I absolutely loved. Darcy bought them for me for Mother’s Day, from Everlee. I cried so hard. I will cherish them forever.
Today began another ten days in Orlando. We went to Island of Adventure in Universal. It was fun. I went on my first big girl roller coaster and survived, and drank some butter beer at Hogwarts in the wizard inn world of Harry Potter.
I’m trying very hard to put one foot in front of the other each day bravely, but I still wake up every morning not wanting to get out of bed, and cry myself to sleep every night. I’m having moments of happiness during the day, but more than anything I’d give up this entire trip for just one half a second to hold Everlee again.
Being Everlee's Mom 
My heart breaks for you. Keep going, one day at a time. At least you are trying and all your friends and family are here to help you. We all love hearing that you are having “moments” of fun. We all know that doesn’t change how you feel about Everlee. It will never change. Once you are a Mom or Dad, the love for your child is immeasurable. But, I still believe there is a tiny little lady named Everlee Rose McMeekin, that sees her Mommy and Daddy having fun with each other and that will give her peace. We love you and miss you. Your Dad and I can see that your smiles are big and wide, but are not the same as they were at Christmas. Love Mom and Dad
Eventually you will come to a realization that people don’t look at you and see your dead little girl. They still see you, They see someone young and vibrant and wonderful who has gone through the worst thing a parent could ever experience. Everlee isn’t a chain around your neck. She is a balloon at your wrist. Urging you to keep moving forward and living every single day to its fullest in her memory. You aren’t escaping from her by being there. You are recreating and rebuilding your whole life around the memory of her short but incredibly important life. Build up.. She deserves that and so do you.
Love your statements Tarpo.
Oh, I love the image of a balloon around your wrist! Always tugging gently, always heading up.
I look at your picture and see a normal young woman. You do look lovely and like you are enjoying that moment. It IS normal to grieve such a profound loss, but grief doesn’t always cry.
I love your statements to Tarpo. Excellent advice
I agree with Tarpo. 🙂 Let that balloon help lift you up. For Everlee.