Eight months ago, my daughter was born dead.

It’s been the first month that I have woken up on the 28th and not felt the weight of Lauren’s death upon me. That’s not to say that I don’t miss her. I miss her every day, every hour. She is always in my thoughts. But it’s the first month that I feel more like I’m living with Lauren’s death than surviving it.

In some ways, I feel guilty. But more than that, I feel relief. Because I know that it’s not that I miss my daughter less, it’s that I’m learning to live without her. It’s not exactly what I want to do, but I realize that it’s something I need to do. I can’t remain frozen on September 28th. I have a future to think of.

May has not been an easy month. It was the month I’d hoped would be when we could start talking about seriously trying again. Instead, we’re still waiting. And it’s possible we’ll be waiting until summer, even through summer. I’m getting used to the waiting. I’m starting to wonder how I’ll do when I can finally stop waiting and do something.

May has not been a good month for writing. I was sick the first week, followed by another week of recovery. On the 18th, Geordie and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary. Thanks to my parents, we spent most of last week at a resort hotel in the White Mountains in New Hampshire, a vacation we very much needed. It was good to be alone together again. We haven’t had much of that these past eight months.

I’m hoping June continues as well as that vacation went. We need a couple good months.

Life goes on. It’s not easy, and it’s painful. But it’s what should happen.