It's hard to believe it's been nine months since I last saw my Logan-ey take a breath. In a way, it feels like it's been less time; in another, it blows my mind that I could've gotten pregnant and produced another child in the time it's been since he left us.
But time is a funny thing. I think it betrays us, in a way. It's the taker of memories and experiences and youth. I suppose that's a little cynical. But as I told a friend recently, after the year I've had, I'm fortunate that I'm merely cynical.
So how am I? I struggle mightily with that question. Some days, I feel almost normal. Others... not so much. Sometimes I just start crying and have no idea why. But I'm trying to maneuver through this life that has been gifted to me. Because it's important to remember that despite our circumstances, life is still just that: a gift. Right now, I don't know how to make the best of it. I don't want to just roll with the punches and float along; I want to make an impact. I want Logan's life to make an impact. But I don't know what those things look like. At least, not yet. Hopefully some day I will.
Part of me is dreading the holiday season. The other part of me is grateful for a chance to celebrate. When Logan was still here, I once asked him to name his favorite holiday. His response? "Easter. And Christmas. And my birthday. And Halloween, and Thanksgiving. And Valentine's Day..." He loved them all, he really did. So I need to honor that. And in the process, hope that doing so doesn't break my heart even more.