Time Capsule

Be still and know.

abstract watercolor illustration of butterflies
Image created via Midjourney

I began blogging in October of 2009 as a way to capture my life as a parent.  I have been on social media even longer, since 2005.

My own content has become a digital time capsule.  I am forced to look into it, day after day.  And now — it shows where I was, every inch of the way, over the past year.  Yesterday, it was the first post I wrote about losing Nelle.  The day before, it was the link to her obituary.

On September 5th, 2015 (the day after she was born), I posted on Twitter:

I will come to you in the silence
I will lift you from all your fear
You will hear my voice
Be still and know I am here.

On September 5th, 2016, a writer I admire, Glennon Doyle Melton wrote a post that included these words:

All is well.  And shall be well.  And all manner of things shall be well.  And also this one.
Be Still and Know that I am God.
Be Still and Know.
Be Still.

Same words, read twice in one day.  Be Still and Know.  A phrase that I have not repeated enough to myself lately, as I feel my mind and insides churning with a new waterfall of grieving at the one-year mark.  Be Still and Know.  It is engraved into one of my MantraBands.  Be Still and Know.

A silver bracelet engraved with the words "Be Still and Know"
Be Still and Know

Be Still. The time capsule of my memories is going to come rushing at me, constantly, in the upcoming weeks and months. The past few months have been a small reprieve but now I am going to need to face the memories.

Where I was at this time last year.
One week after she was gone.
One month after she was gone.

And Know. Know that it is still an ongoing process and there is no timetable.  

Know that while I often feel like the universe has shoved me down and kicked me, there are bright spots as well, reminding me that the universe is looking out.  

Someone who squeezed my hand when I needed it. Someone who met me for a frantic last-minute, late-night cup of coffee. Someone who listened to my anger. Someone who provided me with a distraction.


And let that be enough for now.

I am trying to avoid things that remind me that I won’t be having a baby anymore.
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