There’s a heaviness that settles in as the date approaches.
No matter how hard you try to push it away, it arrives like clockwork.
That dark cloud.
It doesn’t matter how many years have passed. The world keeps spinning, but that date is frozen in your heart. A calendar reminder you never set but one your soul refuses to forget.
Every day without your child is hard. But the days leading up to their angelversary are something else entirely.
For me, it starts as a slow ache in my chest. I might be out doing errands or talking with someone, trying to keep life moving along. But I feel it there, pressing. The memory of what’s coming.
The questions begin:
Do I try to fight it this year?
Do I push myself to stay busy, to not dwell on the pain?
Or do I let the sadness in?
It’s a question so many bereaved parents face.
There’s no single right answer.
Some years I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve over-scheduled myself, determined not to let the date “win.” I’ve smiled when I wanted to cry, told people “I’m okay” when I wasn’t.
And sometimes, that worked for a little while. But grief always finds its way through the cracks.
Other years, I’ve surrendered completely. I’ve cleared the calendar and given myself permission to fall apart. I’ve let the tears come in waves. Lit candles. Looked at photos. Spoken their name aloud.
And you know what? Neither way erased the hurt.
Because the truth is: nothing makes those days easy.
What I’ve learned is this: it’s not about “winning” against grief. It’s about honoring the love that fuels it.
That sadness in the days before their angelversary it’s love that has nowhere to go.
Love that wants to hold them, laugh with them, see them walk through the door.
It’s the longing for all the days that will never come.
So now, I try not to judge myself either way.
If I need to be quiet and still, I do.
If I need to stay busy, I give myself that grace.
If I need to cry, I let myself.
If I need to laugh, I allow that too.
I try to remember that grief is love, and that love is not something to be ashamed of.
As the date comes closer, I talk to my child. I say their name. I tell them I love them still, forever.
And I remind myself: They know.
If you’re reading this, and you’re in those hard days right now I see you.
Please know that however you cope is okay. There is no wrong way to grieve. There is only your way.
Be gentle with yourself.
Light a candle. Share a memory. Say their name. Or go for a long drive. Sit with someone who understands. Or sit alone in quiet.
Whatever you choos let it be an act of love.
Because that’s what this is all about.
Love.
Still here.
Still real.
Even in the dark cloud.
Especially in it.
I’m holding you in my heart.
From my heart Kellie Cunningham Sipos
Emilie Sipos July 22, 2018 💕
