Eleven months, 2 weeks, 4 days
Today: eleven months, 2 weeks and 4 days, I am farther away from the grief that overtook me almost 1 year ago. It lays dormant, reappearing whenever it wants, regardless of what I'm doing, where I am or who I'm with. The grief comes with a vengeance, and can bring me back to the moment I knew Nico's heart stopped beating. And when it does, the grief shows itself as a knot in my stomach, a lump in my throat and a wave of tears welling up behind my smiling facade. Mostly, I think my friends think I'm fine now. And I am. Most days. These days, I can go about my day without the fear of breaking down at the drop of a hat. I can go to the grocery store and not have to avoid the aisle with the pregnant mother. More importantly, I can go to the places where people remember I was pregnant and not be afraid of them asking me about my son. This still happens. At the farmers markets, with the farmers from last summer still remembering me big-bellied and asking "H