Some days I feel Reed's presence everywhere. Other days, I look for him and am simply reminded of his absence. Those days are hard, and I don't know how to get unstuck. My goal becomes to simply survive the day and hope the next one is better.
Today is Reed's one month birthday, and I didn't know what kind of day to expect. As it approached, I was nervous. Would it be a day where I remembered him peacefully, looked at his photo and smiled, reminisced about him and laughed? Or would it be a heavy day, one where I sought him everywhere but couldn't find him?
When I came downstairs this morning, Marc pointed to the paper whites we've had sitting on the counter for the past two weeks. We didn't learn until after we'd brought these ones home that the paper white is the birth flower for December. Ours had a single, tiny white bloom right in the center. A bloom that hadn't been these yesterday.
I had to smile. Every once in a while, Reed will give us these glimpses. These signs that show us he is here with us, taking care of us when we need him most. He knew I needed to feel him today, and made sure I knew he was here with me.
Sometimes these signs are, like this one, undeniable to me. Walking across Reed Lake in Portland and seeing that the beautiful building in front of us was called Eliot Hall was one of those. The Barn being covered with swallow nests (a symbol of grieving mothers) on the day of his service was another.
Other times the signs are more subtle. We will see a bright ray of sunshine break through the clouds in front of us and both think, "Hmm. That could be Reed". I'll hear just the right song pop up on the radio at just the right moment and smile with how perfectly it fits. Times like these, it sometimes feels like a stretch to believe it is Reed. But I believe it anyway, because that's what I need to do.
I am learning that, when I don't feel him, he must just be somewhere else. Maybe Marc needs him more than I do on that day, so he's with his daddy. Maybe someone else who loves him is getting that gentle reminder.
Or maybe he's off...wherever he is now...playing with Sully, the tiny gray kitten we lost so suddenly three years ago. When Sully died, it seemed so unjust. Meaningless. But now I see it differently. Now I know Reed has a cuddly little kitten who is just the right size for him, and I picture them snuggling up together, and I smile.
So, are all these little reminders coincidence? Maybe. Before all this happened, I might listen to people share stories like this and smile. I might feel happy for them, because they felt comforted, but skeptical all the same. Now, I'm not so sure. Yes, it could still be just coincidence. I could be finding meaning in these moments because I'm looking for meaning. Or...it could be Reed, reassuring me that he is still here, taking care of us.
That's what I'm going to choose to believe today.
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