Do you ever just sit in the dark and think about the special person who is no longer in your world?
I will never forget that morning. I was awakened around 5 a.m. The cats were meowing, and that’s what prompted me to get up. Desiree’s room is about ten steps away from mine. It was still dark as I walked over there, half-awake, just trying to figure out what they needed. The cat tree was in her room, and I was looking for a bowl to give them some food.
I had no idea what I was walking into.
There are some moments in life that divide everything into before and after. That morning was one of them. It’s a day I replay in my mind. The quietness of the house, the darkness, the feeling that everything was ok even though it wasn't.
Some of my favorite memories of Desiree are from when she was younger. She was so loved, and she gave that love right back. She always said “please” and “thank you.” That was just who she was. Kind, respectful, full of warmth. She was that special person who shone like a bright star, the kind of light you don’t realize the full impact of until it’s gone.
There is no formula for grief. No right way to go through it. Grief is like a storm: gray skies, thunder, heavy and overwhelming. Some days it hits out of nowhere. But when the storm passes, even just for a moment, there’s a release. And in that release, there is sunshine and hope, a smile that comes from remembering the joy Desiree brought into my life.
Trauma is so complex wish I could tell her how sorry I am for not seeing the pain she was in. It is something I will carry with me always. I will remember Desiree's life, her spirit, and the love she gave so freely. She was mama’s biggest cheerleader, and that love still pushes me forward, even on the hardest days.
Healing does not happen overnight; there is no magic pill; it is a work in progress. Sometimes that work looks like being still… sitting in the presence of Jesus and allowing Him to speak to my heart in ways no human can. In those quiet moments, I find peace. I find comfort. I find just enough strength to keep going.
And even in the middle of grief, I hold onto this: Desiree’s light didn’t leave. It lives on in me.
Love Desiree's Mommy.
