On the fourth day of November, my fourth day of thanks, I'm thankful for...
This one was a little rough...I woke up this morning feeling not particularly thankful. On our first cycle of trying again after losing Charlotte, we had a chemical pregnancy, and my period just started up again today. Woke up a little bitter...
...I've been thinking on it all day though, and I've realized something in it that I'm thankful for. I'm actually thankful that I was able to be joyous and happy about the possibility of a new baby for one day. Yeah, I got one day of happiness followed by a huge let down, but I still got that day... I also am thankful, strange as it sounds, that we had a chemical pregnancy instead of nothing. That sounds weird. I mean, a chemical pregnancy is really just a super early miscarriage, right? Shouldn't I freak out about that a little?
I'm choosing not to. I'm not HAPPY it happened, and, given the choice, I'd obviously choose the easier route of getting pregnant again on the first try, but....in a weird way I can see Charlotte's influence on this. I've been praying every day that we will have another child soon, and that Charlotte will see her little brother or sister safely into the world...and it's not that we didn't get pregnant this cycle. We did. It's that this baby couldn't come safely into the world. There was something wrong with this baby, and that little spirit is waiting for a stronger host. In a corner of my head, it's like I can hear Charlotte saying, "See Mom, you're going to have another baby...we're going to get through this together...and I'm protecting you from the bad stuff."
This is what I'm choosing to believe...and I'm thankful for that.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Accepting Blame
This is my third post of the day...yup, one of those nights.
I want to refer back to someone I'd written about a month ago HERE. A person I had considered a close friend never said a word to me after I told her of Charlotte's death. Three months later she still has said nothing. No "I'm sorry." No "How are you?" No "I remember that you're alive and going through a traumatic experience and I'm supposed to be your friend and maybe, possibly give a damn about that."
So I saw another trivial post from her on facebook today. Every time I see a silly trivial post from her it makes me angry...she has the time and energy to post about her husband liking a radio station that she doesn't, but she doesn't have time or energy to talk to me about my daughter's death. Really? I decided I didn't need this anger in my life, so I decided to unfriend her.
The problem is, I've never unfriended someone before, so I felt the need to preempt my unfriending with a message explaining the reasoning behind it. This was my message:
Instead of an apology, or an explanation, what I got was basically a defensive rant about the way in which I told her. She was offended that I hadn't "bothered" to tell her I was pregnant in the first place, and then I told her of Charlotte's death though a group message which she felt was "Inappropriate, impersonal, and awkward."
OK, I will grant you that it's a jarring message to get, but you don't get to judge the form of the message when the content of the message is that my daughter died. Sorry. It's not about you at that point. It's not about what you wanted, expected, or thought. When you hear that your friend's daughter died, your job is to offer support and sympathy. Period. I mean, really, most people would do that if they heard a stranger on the bus had lost their daughter. (as a side note, I hate that euphemism)
It made me realize something about myself. In any other circumstance, I would have accepted the blame. It happens a lot: I call someone on something they did wrong. They deflect the blame back on me and I end up feeling bad about myself when I didn't do anything wrong. Not this time, though. I refuse to accept blame for the stupid crap other people did in this situation. It's not my job to make it easier for you to support me. Sorry, dude, it's just not. My daughter died, and I can grieve any damn way I want.
The problem is, as I went to put all of this into words, she blocked me on facebook....and I am left holding the bag of blame. Damn it. So, here was my thought out and heartfelt response, which she won't ever read:
I want to refer back to someone I'd written about a month ago HERE. A person I had considered a close friend never said a word to me after I told her of Charlotte's death. Three months later she still has said nothing. No "I'm sorry." No "How are you?" No "I remember that you're alive and going through a traumatic experience and I'm supposed to be your friend and maybe, possibly give a damn about that."
So I saw another trivial post from her on facebook today. Every time I see a silly trivial post from her it makes me angry...she has the time and energy to post about her husband liking a radio station that she doesn't, but she doesn't have time or energy to talk to me about my daughter's death. Really? I decided I didn't need this anger in my life, so I decided to unfriend her.
The problem is, I've never unfriended someone before, so I felt the need to preempt my unfriending with a message explaining the reasoning behind it. This was my message:
I've gone back and forth on sending this message for a while...
I had thought that you and I were fairly good friends. I know we didn't talk nearly as much after I transferred schools, but still...
When I sent you a message, about Charlotte's death, I was really surprised that you didn't say anything. I know that I requested people not say the stupid things, things like, "You can always have another" or "It was just not meant to be", but every other person at least acknowledged that they had received it. They all sent brief, marginally acceptable sympathy messages.
I thought maybe you were just looking for the right words. I excused it for a long while. The thing is, it's been over three months now, and I truly believe that, if you really did care about me, you would have acknowledged my daughter's death. Really, that seems like a decent, human thing to do, even if you weren't my friend. I know you and Thomas were trying to have a baby, and it's a sore subject for you...but my daughter died. She died. A friend would care.
I don't expect you to say anything. I don't need anything from you. I just wanted to unload the burden that's been on my heart, because I feel like I have enough of a burden to bear, and this one shouldn't be mine to carry.
I had thought that you and I were fairly good friends. I know we didn't talk nearly as much after I transferred schools, but still...
When I sent you a message, about Charlotte's death, I was really surprised that you didn't say anything. I know that I requested people not say the stupid things, things like, "You can always have another" or "It was just not meant to be", but every other person at least acknowledged that they had received it. They all sent brief, marginally acceptable sympathy messages.
I thought maybe you were just looking for the right words. I excused it for a long while. The thing is, it's been over three months now, and I truly believe that, if you really did care about me, you would have acknowledged my daughter's death. Really, that seems like a decent, human thing to do, even if you weren't my friend. I know you and Thomas were trying to have a baby, and it's a sore subject for you...but my daughter died. She died. A friend would care.
I don't expect you to say anything. I don't need anything from you. I just wanted to unload the burden that's been on my heart, because I feel like I have enough of a burden to bear, and this one shouldn't be mine to carry.
Instead of an apology, or an explanation, what I got was basically a defensive rant about the way in which I told her. She was offended that I hadn't "bothered" to tell her I was pregnant in the first place, and then I told her of Charlotte's death though a group message which she felt was "Inappropriate, impersonal, and awkward."
OK, I will grant you that it's a jarring message to get, but you don't get to judge the form of the message when the content of the message is that my daughter died. Sorry. It's not about you at that point. It's not about what you wanted, expected, or thought. When you hear that your friend's daughter died, your job is to offer support and sympathy. Period. I mean, really, most people would do that if they heard a stranger on the bus had lost their daughter. (as a side note, I hate that euphemism)
It made me realize something about myself. In any other circumstance, I would have accepted the blame. It happens a lot: I call someone on something they did wrong. They deflect the blame back on me and I end up feeling bad about myself when I didn't do anything wrong. Not this time, though. I refuse to accept blame for the stupid crap other people did in this situation. It's not my job to make it easier for you to support me. Sorry, dude, it's just not. My daughter died, and I can grieve any damn way I want.
The problem is, as I went to put all of this into words, she blocked me on facebook....and I am left holding the bag of blame. Damn it. So, here was my thought out and heartfelt response, which she won't ever read:
Don't you DARE tell me that sharing
the news of my daughter's death with you, however I chose to do it, was
inappropriate. Just don't.
I had told, besides family, a grand total of five people I was having a baby. I had a miscarriage at thirteen weeks before having Mia, and I am thus (now more so) incredibly hesitant to share pregnancy news. Charlotte was stillborn at five months. I went through complete and total hell, during which time I debated sharing her with anyone. I decided to tell the people I thought were my close friends, but I did not have the strength, mentally, physically, or emotionally, to do so multiple times. I can understand not wanting to say things offensive and honor my wishes, but in the three months since I told you my daughter died, you never said one word to me. Nothing.
I'm not coping with a situation, I'm grieving...and please don't use that to disqualify what I'm saying, because I am entirely lucid on this point. The thing is, you go through your entire life believing that, when and if you truly needed it, the loved ones in your life would be there to support you. It's an incredibly lonely and painful experience to realize that many of them wouldn't be.
I don't want to tread repeatedly on these points, but I want to make clear that I don't accept blame in this. This isn't my fault. However awkward you felt, however hard it was for you, it was many, many times harder for me. The thing is, by deflecting the blame in that way you're making it about you, and this one thing was really, truly about me, about my family.
I had told, besides family, a grand total of five people I was having a baby. I had a miscarriage at thirteen weeks before having Mia, and I am thus (now more so) incredibly hesitant to share pregnancy news. Charlotte was stillborn at five months. I went through complete and total hell, during which time I debated sharing her with anyone. I decided to tell the people I thought were my close friends, but I did not have the strength, mentally, physically, or emotionally, to do so multiple times. I can understand not wanting to say things offensive and honor my wishes, but in the three months since I told you my daughter died, you never said one word to me. Nothing.
I'm not coping with a situation, I'm grieving...and please don't use that to disqualify what I'm saying, because I am entirely lucid on this point. The thing is, you go through your entire life believing that, when and if you truly needed it, the loved ones in your life would be there to support you. It's an incredibly lonely and painful experience to realize that many of them wouldn't be.
I don't want to tread repeatedly on these points, but I want to make clear that I don't accept blame in this. This isn't my fault. However awkward you felt, however hard it was for you, it was many, many times harder for me. The thing is, by deflecting the blame in that way you're making it about you, and this one thing was really, truly about me, about my family.
Realization about trying to conceive after loss
I just had this epiphany in the last few days...
...when one is trying to conceive after a loss, things are harder, and I think I realized why. When one is trying to conceive after a loss, one has already had taken from her the thing she wants...a baby. So then, in trying to conceive again, it's just trying to reclaim what should have been yours already.
It's almost as if one has lost thousands of dollars at the blackjack table...a win isn't a win because you're already so far behind. You start to feel desperate. Any loss is a blow. Any setback seems huge. Johnny Knuckles, the bookie, is breathing down your neck and you feel like, if you don't win it back soon, he'll break your legs. OK, I took that analogy too far. I do that. But it's not far off, either!
...but it's more than that.
When one is trying to conceive after a loss, the pressure and desire are so much more heightened. Every cycle, she tells herself that this will be the one. She has to. If she doesn't she'll lose hope, and hope is sometimes all it feels like she has left. The problem is, it's impossible to contain the hope. The hope grows. It thrives. She starts daydreaming about a positive test, telling her husband, feeling the baby move. Hope is a slippery slope...
When it doesn't work...when the period comes...when those hopes crash and shatter around her...it's like another loss. It's as though she's losing another baby. The hope gets so built up it becomes real, and then the reality is gone in the blink of an eye. It's clearly a different type of loss, as the baby never really existed...but didn't it?
...when one is trying to conceive after a loss, things are harder, and I think I realized why. When one is trying to conceive after a loss, one has already had taken from her the thing she wants...a baby. So then, in trying to conceive again, it's just trying to reclaim what should have been yours already.
It's almost as if one has lost thousands of dollars at the blackjack table...a win isn't a win because you're already so far behind. You start to feel desperate. Any loss is a blow. Any setback seems huge. Johnny Knuckles, the bookie, is breathing down your neck and you feel like, if you don't win it back soon, he'll break your legs. OK, I took that analogy too far. I do that. But it's not far off, either!
...but it's more than that.
When one is trying to conceive after a loss, the pressure and desire are so much more heightened. Every cycle, she tells herself that this will be the one. She has to. If she doesn't she'll lose hope, and hope is sometimes all it feels like she has left. The problem is, it's impossible to contain the hope. The hope grows. It thrives. She starts daydreaming about a positive test, telling her husband, feeling the baby move. Hope is a slippery slope...
When it doesn't work...when the period comes...when those hopes crash and shatter around her...it's like another loss. It's as though she's losing another baby. The hope gets so built up it becomes real, and then the reality is gone in the blink of an eye. It's clearly a different type of loss, as the baby never really existed...but didn't it?
Third day of thanks
**This is not in order. I want to point out that, though I started with my husband and daughter, I am not going in any order of preference...and to prove that point...
On the third day of November, my third day of thanks, I am thankful for pumpkin flavored or scented stuff. When the weather turns cold, and my lawn, which isn't pretty to begin with, fills with decaying leaves, and school starts back up after the glory that is summer...there is pumpkin. Wawa pumpkin latte, pumpkin roll, pumpkin pie (which is really just a vehicle for whipped cream), pumpkin coffee creamer, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin candles, pumpkin febreeze, pumpkin oil defusers, and so on, and so on. I start ending sentences with, "...but at least it's pumpkin season."
I have to go back to school ...but at least it's pumpkin season.
I'm freaking freezing ...but at least it's pumpkin season.
It will take me ten hours to rake the front yard ...but at least it's pumpkin season.
I had to wake up in the dark to get dressed this morning...but at least it's pumpkin season.
On the third day of November, my third day of thanks, I am thankful for pumpkin flavored or scented stuff. When the weather turns cold, and my lawn, which isn't pretty to begin with, fills with decaying leaves, and school starts back up after the glory that is summer...there is pumpkin. Wawa pumpkin latte, pumpkin roll, pumpkin pie (which is really just a vehicle for whipped cream), pumpkin coffee creamer, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin candles, pumpkin febreeze, pumpkin oil defusers, and so on, and so on. I start ending sentences with, "...but at least it's pumpkin season."
I have to go back to school ...but at least it's pumpkin season.
I'm freaking freezing ...but at least it's pumpkin season.
It will take me ten hours to rake the front yard ...but at least it's pumpkin season.
I had to wake up in the dark to get dressed this morning...but at least it's pumpkin season.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Second day of thanks
On the second day of November, my second day of thanks, I am thankful for my amazing, beautiful, smart, perfect little girl. I have so much love for her that my heart just breaks trying to hold it all. I hope I never, ever take her for granted.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
First day of November...first day of Thanks...
As with my photo journey, I don't see myself doing this every day...but I want to post something I'm thankful for each month of November. Sometimes I get so swamped in my (selfish) grief and loss process that I forget to take the time to express my thanks. Don't get me wrong: I am not, in any way, shape, or form, taking any of my blessings for granted. Still, I dwell on the sadness sometimes.
SO
November 1--Day 1--I am thankful for my husband.
Today I want to express my thankfulness for my wonderful husband. I usually focus on the Meemers when expressing my joy, but Mike is also a huge part of my happiness every day. I am so lucky to have him in my life.
We found each other over fourteen years ago, when we were both in high school. Though there were rough patches (big, gaping, pot hole sized ones) along the way, once we got serious, engaged, and married, neither of us has regretted a day we've spent together.
He is the only person, I truly believe, who really knows me for who I am. He is the only person that I don't worry is secretly annoyed by me. He is the only person who understands me without explanation or excuse.
I often wonder if other people out there are as happy and in love as we are. The answer I always reach is that I hope so...but I doubt it. If they were, there wouldn't be so much hate an ugliness in the world. Having a person (cliche!!) be the piece that you didn't know was missing makes it close to impossible to be ugly like that.
SO
November 1--Day 1--I am thankful for my husband.
Today I want to express my thankfulness for my wonderful husband. I usually focus on the Meemers when expressing my joy, but Mike is also a huge part of my happiness every day. I am so lucky to have him in my life.
We found each other over fourteen years ago, when we were both in high school. Though there were rough patches (big, gaping, pot hole sized ones) along the way, once we got serious, engaged, and married, neither of us has regretted a day we've spent together.
He is the only person, I truly believe, who really knows me for who I am. He is the only person that I don't worry is secretly annoyed by me. He is the only person who understands me without explanation or excuse.
I often wonder if other people out there are as happy and in love as we are. The answer I always reach is that I hope so...but I doubt it. If they were, there wouldn't be so much hate an ugliness in the world. Having a person (cliche!!) be the piece that you didn't know was missing makes it close to impossible to be ugly like that.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Capture Your Grief--Days 16-31 (oops)
OK, though I knew I'd never keep up with a picture a day, I thought I'd do better than this! Oh well... I think I put it off so long because so many of the images have to be found images rather than images I've taken...Again, oh well.
Once again, here are the days:
If you missed it, my photo journey started HERE, and there are links to take you through the other days.
Day 16: Release
I tried to think of when I felt real release after Charlotte's death...I've realized that it was after I finished putting together her memory box. I felt like I needed to put her photo album and her baby book and her footprints somewhere important...not just in a bag or a shoe box somewhere. Putting it all neatly in the box and shutting the box felt like a release to me.
Day 17: Birthday
OK, so, obviously her birthday isn't for a while yet...but here's what I'm planning. I want to write a letter to Charlotte, thanking her for everything good that's happened this year, put it in a balloon, and release it to her. We want it to be a happy occasion, not a sad one. She was stillborn, but she was still born (I stole that from another blogger...)
Day 18: Your Family Portrait
I wish I had a picture of Mia with Charlotte...but she wasn't there. I guess I'm happy about that, too...but I wish I could have a family portrait with both my daughters. Instead, here we are with Mia at Easter, when Charlotte was still alive...albeit, not a good picture.
Day 19: Project
As weird as it is to post a photo of my blog on my blog, that was my project...particularly my experience journal. Writing "Time With Charlotte" was the project I needed to come to terms with a lot of my memories and preserve them, in a way that feels really important.
Day 20: Charity/Organization
I posted about this before...LLOST is a charity that really helped us, though we didn't know it at the time. See my post HERE.
Day 21: Altar/Shrine
I know that I've posted a picture of the curio cabinet before, but Charlotte's shelf really has become a little shrine for her. Mike and I aren't hugely religious people, but the angels comfort us. It's how we see our baby, now.
Day 22: Place of Birth
This isn't exactly our room (or maybe it is...I don't know...but it's the exact same setup of room from the same hospital, so close enough. I thought of just putting in a photo of the hospital, but the sum total of hours that I got to spend with my daughter I spent in a room that looked like this...so it's not so sad a memory, I guess.
Day 23: Charlotte's Photo
This feels hard to post...I don't know why. I think it's because, though she was tiny, had a birth defect that caused her death, and wasn't fully developed, to me, she was perfect...and I know that other people won't and can't see her that way. I remember feeling that way myself...before it was my child. It's hard to share her with people when I know they can't see her the way I do...but she's my daughter, and I'm proud to be her mother, and I need to be proud to show her photo...regardless of what others think.
Day 24: Siblings
Thank God for Mia. If I didn't have Mia, I don't know if I would have come out on the other side of this.
Day 25: Baby Shower
Charlotte didn't get a baby shower...she probably wouldn't have gotten one even had she lived...being a second child does that. Instead, here is what I WOULD have gotten for Charlotte as my own personal baby shower, had things been different. (I have both a Gymboree and a monkey obsession.)
Day 26: Their Age
Charlotte was 21 weeks when she was born...I'm tempted to lie if ever asked. People don't see that loss as being as valid as a later loss...but maybe more valid than an earlier loss. I had a loss at 13 weeks...for me, this was so much infinitely harder.
Day 27: Artwork
I bought this shortly after Charlotte's birth...I love this photographer's work, and the words tore at my heart a bit...in a good way. I plan to frame and hang the print sometime soon, but I haven't yet.
Day 28: Memory
How does one photograph memory? I have no idea...so here's one of my most vivid memories. I found out we were expecting Charlotte on the day The Hunger Games was released in theaters (March 23). Mike and I were going to go see it the next day, having a babysitter and everything, and I stayed up all night that night so I could see Mike when he got home from work. I remember talking about our new baby in the car with Mike on the way there...we were so happy. It's good to look for a good memory, I think. So much of what I write is about the end...this was the beginning. I don't regret a second of my time with Charlotte.
Day 29: Music
The Olympics started the Friday after Charlotte's birth. Do you remember the song that they played (and played, and played, and played) for the US Women's Gymnastics Team? "Home" by Phillip Phillips (really? Phillip Phillips?) That's just one of those songs that you can't help but remember...and I heard it so, so many times in the weeks following Charlotte's birth. I know it's a song that, when I hear it years from now, will bring me right back to those weeks...in the best way possible, if that makes any sense.
Day 30: My Grief
I remember taking this picture...I remember thinking, "This is the only time you will get to hold your daughter...try to look a little happy, damn it." It was hard. This is how it came out.
Day 31: Sunset
It started at the beach on day 1...it should end there, too. It's hard to take a picture of the sunset at the Outer Banks. It's on the East Coast, and the sun sets behind us. This is of Mia at sunset...you can see the fading colors and light. The time at the beach after Charlotte's death was relatively healing...as was this photo journey. I think this is a good way to finish that journey.
Once again, here are the days:
If you missed it, my photo journey started HERE, and there are links to take you through the other days.
Day 16: Release
I tried to think of when I felt real release after Charlotte's death...I've realized that it was after I finished putting together her memory box. I felt like I needed to put her photo album and her baby book and her footprints somewhere important...not just in a bag or a shoe box somewhere. Putting it all neatly in the box and shutting the box felt like a release to me.
Day 17: Birthday
OK, so, obviously her birthday isn't for a while yet...but here's what I'm planning. I want to write a letter to Charlotte, thanking her for everything good that's happened this year, put it in a balloon, and release it to her. We want it to be a happy occasion, not a sad one. She was stillborn, but she was still born (I stole that from another blogger...)
Day 18: Your Family Portrait
I wish I had a picture of Mia with Charlotte...but she wasn't there. I guess I'm happy about that, too...but I wish I could have a family portrait with both my daughters. Instead, here we are with Mia at Easter, when Charlotte was still alive...albeit, not a good picture.
Day 19: Project
As weird as it is to post a photo of my blog on my blog, that was my project...particularly my experience journal. Writing "Time With Charlotte" was the project I needed to come to terms with a lot of my memories and preserve them, in a way that feels really important.
Day 20: Charity/Organization
I posted about this before...LLOST is a charity that really helped us, though we didn't know it at the time. See my post HERE.
Day 21: Altar/Shrine
I know that I've posted a picture of the curio cabinet before, but Charlotte's shelf really has become a little shrine for her. Mike and I aren't hugely religious people, but the angels comfort us. It's how we see our baby, now.
Day 22: Place of Birth
This isn't exactly our room (or maybe it is...I don't know...but it's the exact same setup of room from the same hospital, so close enough. I thought of just putting in a photo of the hospital, but the sum total of hours that I got to spend with my daughter I spent in a room that looked like this...so it's not so sad a memory, I guess.
Day 23: Charlotte's Photo
This feels hard to post...I don't know why. I think it's because, though she was tiny, had a birth defect that caused her death, and wasn't fully developed, to me, she was perfect...and I know that other people won't and can't see her that way. I remember feeling that way myself...before it was my child. It's hard to share her with people when I know they can't see her the way I do...but she's my daughter, and I'm proud to be her mother, and I need to be proud to show her photo...regardless of what others think.
Day 24: Siblings
Thank God for Mia. If I didn't have Mia, I don't know if I would have come out on the other side of this.
Day 25: Baby Shower
Charlotte didn't get a baby shower...she probably wouldn't have gotten one even had she lived...being a second child does that. Instead, here is what I WOULD have gotten for Charlotte as my own personal baby shower, had things been different. (I have both a Gymboree and a monkey obsession.)
Charlotte was 21 weeks when she was born...I'm tempted to lie if ever asked. People don't see that loss as being as valid as a later loss...but maybe more valid than an earlier loss. I had a loss at 13 weeks...for me, this was so much infinitely harder.
Day 27: Artwork
I bought this shortly after Charlotte's birth...I love this photographer's work, and the words tore at my heart a bit...in a good way. I plan to frame and hang the print sometime soon, but I haven't yet.
Day 28: Memory
How does one photograph memory? I have no idea...so here's one of my most vivid memories. I found out we were expecting Charlotte on the day The Hunger Games was released in theaters (March 23). Mike and I were going to go see it the next day, having a babysitter and everything, and I stayed up all night that night so I could see Mike when he got home from work. I remember talking about our new baby in the car with Mike on the way there...we were so happy. It's good to look for a good memory, I think. So much of what I write is about the end...this was the beginning. I don't regret a second of my time with Charlotte.
Day 29: Music
The Olympics started the Friday after Charlotte's birth. Do you remember the song that they played (and played, and played, and played) for the US Women's Gymnastics Team? "Home" by Phillip Phillips (really? Phillip Phillips?) That's just one of those songs that you can't help but remember...and I heard it so, so many times in the weeks following Charlotte's birth. I know it's a song that, when I hear it years from now, will bring me right back to those weeks...in the best way possible, if that makes any sense.
Day 30: My Grief
I remember taking this picture...I remember thinking, "This is the only time you will get to hold your daughter...try to look a little happy, damn it." It was hard. This is how it came out.
Day 31: Sunset
It started at the beach on day 1...it should end there, too. It's hard to take a picture of the sunset at the Outer Banks. It's on the East Coast, and the sun sets behind us. This is of Mia at sunset...you can see the fading colors and light. The time at the beach after Charlotte's death was relatively healing...as was this photo journey. I think this is a good way to finish that journey.
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