I don’t remember much from those first few days after we lost Everlee. There are very few moments that stick out – The doctor in the case room touching my knee and looking me straight in the eye saying “it means your baby died” is one of them. Everything else just sort of blurs together as if I’m replaying the whole thing through my own tear blurred eyes.

But in the last few days I’ve had a memory come back that haunts me. At her funeral, during the wake, I remember so vividly right now hugging people as if they were the only thing keeping me standing. Like if I held on tight enough that somehow everything would be ok, like I could find all of the answers inside of someone’s arms. Dear friends, family members, co workers, strangers..l hugged them all as if they were the only thing keeping me grounded.

And in retrospect it’s not so far from the truth. I can’t tell you how many times over the past three and a half months that I have thought how much better off I would be if I was with Everlee. Not that I actually entertained making that happen, don’t get me wrong. But if God – if there is a God – had to take my baby girl from me, why put me through all of this pain, why not take me too? Or better yet, why not let me take her place? And without the arms of all of those people who hugged me that day, sent me their hugs from afar, or have even bothered to reach out and let me know they were thinking of us – I honestly have no idea where I would be. Those warm hugs, then and now, mean more to me than anyone will ever know. Even though I may not always respond to emails, or texts, or phone calls (because sometimes I still choke on my words and they end up as hot stinging tears on my cheeks instead) those gestures mean the world to me. I wish I never had to learn this lesson, but sometimes in the greatest of adversities you get to know who your greatest allies are, and you all are mine.

My blog reached 30,000 visitors this week. That’s 30,000 people who now know that Everlee was here, and she was loved more than anything on this earth can measure. And that means more to me than almost anything.

I often have this reoccurring dream, I’ve had it my whole life. I dream that I can fly, but I really have no control over it and I find myself floating away, fighting to keep myself on the ground. I try holding on to things to help me find my way and navigate a world that isn’t made for flying people but its difficult. Sometimes I just can’t grab what I want. Last night I had this dream and I was trying to hold on to Everlee but I just couldn’t grasp her.. She kept slipping away. But other people I know – maybe even you – were there to hold me down and keep me from floating away. It hurt that I couldn’t get to hold my baby girl, but I was so thankful that I had all of you there to hold me and keep me where I needed to be.

Thank you all. I love you.