How can one year without our sweet baby have already passed by?

I started writing this post about a week before the anniversary of finding out Astrid’s heart stopped beating. I currently find myself in the middle of a very busy month. It seems we went from zero on the calendar to booked solid. We’re still distance learning, the kids are in activities that require chauffeuring multiple days a week, and this particular weekend was one where we celebrated two joy-filled occasions on one day: Shecklet #1’s 15th birthday and Shecklet #4’s First Communion.

And then there’s today. 5/16/2021.

This is not a day I ever wanted to have to mark on the calendar. I don’t know if dread is the proper way to describe how I’ve felt as 5/16 approached, but I suppose it’s been something like that. Yes, I know you can say we are celebrating a life, our daughter/sister’s life – her birth day. But it is nowhere near the same as the first birthdays her siblings have been able to celebrate with us. Her earthly life was so short. (Too short, IMO.) And thanks to COVID, her siblings and other family members never even had the chance to see her or hold her.

The events following the end of her life were intense. Induction planning, funeral planning, burial planning, and my return to the hospital – all within a week. I felt like I was on autopilot. Not much room for grieving with all of that going on. A year later, I feel like I’m reliving it all as we navigate what is really more of a week of anniversaries, not just a solitary day. It’s still hard to wrap my head around it all. I have felt numb at times. I know I haven’t given myself the space to truly feel the emotions in real-time because of the busyness of daily life. It’s good I have a therapy appointment this week.

Talking about a child’s death is not comfortable. I understand that bringing up their name or mentioning their life (no matter how long it was) can be hard. And yet, to those of us who have lost a child, it means so much to know that our kids are not forgotten. People know. People care. But not many will talk about them with you. Watching someone cry can be awkward. Death is uncomfortable. Silence is “easier.” I get it. That said, I am very grateful for those who have recently been willing to enter into the part of my life where my heart will always ache because it’s missing someone.

In the weeks leading up to today, a few people took the uncomfortable step to open the conversation to talk about Astrid. One friend (who I finally got to see after 1 1/2 years,) offered her condolences in person, asked me questions, and allowed me to share about my experience with this tremendous loss. Another friend texted me a few weeks before 5/16 to tell me she’s praying for me and recognized that the coming weeks would likely be difficult ones. The fact that she remembered this time of the year for my family meant a lot. Yesterday after First Communion, two friends handed me cards to open today. This morning, I received two hugs before mass and two after mass – one came from a stranger who told me, “I feel like I’m being led to give you a hug.” And throughout the day today, I received emails and text messages from friends and family who told me they’re thinking of us and praying for us. They wrote Astrid’s name. They cared enough to take the time to reach out. I feel humbled by people’s kindness towards me and my family.

The past 365 days have gone slow and fast at the same time. They have been full of tears, questions, prayers, and also peace. Astrid Philomena Sheck, we love you, we miss you, and we live with the hope of seeing you again one day in heaven! Happy birthday, sweet baby girl!