Doing things after your child dies is liking eating a meal that has no flavor.

November the twentieth was our daughter’s tenth birthday. But she wasn’t here to celebrate it. We wanted to do something to remember her and honor her.

In the beginning, after your child has died, you often hear or read about the “firsts”; occasions or events that occur for the first time since your child’s death. We have now come to a year and a few months later and are going through the same events for the second time. The second time is agony.

How do can we possibly give thanks when our child has died?

November is Pulmonary Hypertension Awareness Month.

For a long time you think that there is no one else on earth that could feel like you do and that there is no one who will ever understand. You begin to wonder if maybe you’re alone in this world and that there isn’t a person or a place to which you can turn to find some small bit of solace.

I feel like I did at the beginning...lost, angry, sad beyond belief. This is an article I wrote back then that resonates to me loudly today.

We’ve been living under a cloak of shock. The cloak is velvety and soft, almost comforting, but very heavy and burdensome and at times feels like it might cover me up. Still, under it is a better place than being without it altogether.

When Bella came home one day and told me that no one at her school had ever had a sister or brother die and that no one knew how she felt, my radar went on high. Was she telling us she felt alone? Did she need to get help with a therapist or a counselor? What is a moment of feeling bad for herself?

When Aine died we heard a new sound. Emptiness.