Stormeyes Enchanted

This past week has been a lot.

Honestly, I am not even sure what is happening anymore.

It started with saying goodbye to a place I technically have no right to be sad about.

It is not mine.

It never was.

It probably never will be.

(But boy, can a girl dream. 😉)

Whether my attachment makes sense or not, saying goodbye was ridiculously difficult. There was ugly crying involved, and eventually I had to admit something to myself:

I was grieving a place.

(Yes, I rolled my eyes at myself a little. 🙄)

No, it is not the same as losing Garet. Nothing is.

But it is still a loss.

Some Places Become Part of Us 🌳✨

That land felt different to me.

Almost sacred.

There was a peace there that I struggled to find anywhere else. The calm, the beauty, the stillness—it all felt like more than scenery.

Someone once told me the land had been touched by God.

I can believe that. 🙏

There are places that feel as though they hold something holy. Places where the noise in your mind grows quiet enough for you to hear your own heart again.

For me, this was one of those places.

It was the first place where I did not feel quite so broken.

Not healed.

Not whole.

Just not quite as shattered.

For an hour or two, I could slow my thoughts. I could breathe deeply. I could sit with my grief instead of constantly fighting to survive it.

That place gave me room to open myself to the question of what comes next after a loss so large that it changes everything.

I will always be grateful for that. 💛

(I was even given two extra opportunities to visit and say goodbye. Those final visits were a gift I do not have the words to properly explain.)

And perhaps it is not really goodbye forever.

Maybe the land will be used again in a way that allows me to remain involved.

There is always hope. 🌱

It Was Never Only About the Place 🤍

As difficult as it was to say goodbye to the land, I know the most important part of what happened there cannot be sold, closed, moved, or taken away.

It was about the people.

It was about the women I met there.

Women I am now proud to call my friends. 🫶

We were brought together by the kind of loss no mother should have to endure. No matter where we meet, that does not change.

We carry the same absence.

We understand the same ache.

We hold the same hopes for one another.

I am grateful that I get to help keep this group of women connected. I am thankful to be trusted as part of the process of growing our moms group and helping it continue.

The building or the land may change.

The love does not.

The purpose does not.

The connection does not. 💞

Then Came the Fear 😔

As though the goodbye was not enough for one week, our youngest daughter began telling us that the corner of her eye hurt.

We looked.

We saw nothing.

We assumed perhaps a stye was beginning.

Two days later, she was still complaining of pain. There was still no obvious sign of what was wrong, but we took her to urgent care.

They told us it was pink eye.

It did not look like pink eye to us, but we followed the instructions we were given.

Two days later, her eye was swollen and painful from the pressure.

We took her to Children’s Urgent Care.

This time, they said cellulitis and sent her home with medication.

The next morning, she did not even look like our little girl.

By then, I was scared.

Medical issues are stressful for any parent.

But medical fear after child loss is different.

The mind does not stay politely in the present.

It runs.

It remembers.

It builds every possible worst-case scenario before you can stop it.

The medical team was concerned about whether the infection had spread deeper into her eye. They talked about CT scans, possible overnight stays, and risks to her vision.

She was terrified.

We were terrified.

And beneath her fear was the reality that she is still carrying something connected to the loss of her brother. Medical settings, uncertainty, and the possibility of something bad happening can touch wounds that are already there.

Thankfully, after some very strong medications, what the nurses described as some pretty wicked shots, and many, many prayers, she began to look like herself again. 🙏💗

She is still a little bruised, but the swelling is down.

The pain is gone.

She looks like our girl again. 🥹

And I am deeply grateful.

The frustrating part is that no one knows exactly what caused it or why it happened.

Sometimes there is no clear answer.

There is only relief that the danger has passed.

Fear After Child Loss Has a Long Memory 🧠💔

I know how quickly I spiraled when this happened to Karleigh.

Some logical part of me believed she would probably be okay.

But what about her vision?

What if the infection had spread?

What if we had missed something?

What if?

What if?

What if?

That is where the mind goes after loss.

It does not need much of an opening.

One frightening symptom can pull you back into every helpless moment you have already survived.

And as I sat with that fear, I began thinking about other parents.

Parents who have already lost one child and are now walking through a serious illness with another.

Parents who live with medical uncertainty every day.

Parents who sit beside hospital beds while trying not to imagine another empty bedroom.

My heart hurts for them. 💔

This week gave me only a small glimpse of that fear, and it was enough to remind me how heavy it is.

Then my mind went even further back.

After we lost Garet, we knew our other son had also fallen into that same terrible world of addiction.

Every phone call carried fear.

Every relapse carried fear.

Every silence carried fear.

Every moment held the possibility that something could happen to him too.

That kind of fear does not turn off when you ask it nicely.

It stays alert.

It watches.

It waits for danger.

And I think of all the parents who are still living that way today.

Waiting for the call.

Checking whether their child is breathing.

Watching for signs of relapse.

Trying to sleep while their minds imagine every possible ending.

It breaks my heart.

I Wish There Were Magical Words ✨

I wish I had something perfect to say to parents living with nonstop fear.

I wish I could offer a sentence that would quiet the mind and release the body from carrying so much tension.

But grief has taught me not to offer easy answers to impossible pain.

There may be no magical words.

There may only be reminders.

You are not weak because you are afraid.

Your fear is not proof that you lack faith.

Your mind is trying to protect you from experiencing another loss, even when that protection becomes exhausting.

You are allowed to ask for help carrying it.

You are allowed to rest when you can.

You are allowed to turn off your phone for an hour, breathe, pray, cry, walk, sit outside, or call someone who understands.

You do not have to solve every possible future tonight.

You only have to be here, in this moment. 🌿

Grief Is Not a Competition

This week reminded me that grief can come from many kinds of loss.

The loss of a person.

The loss of a place.

The loss of safety.

The loss of certainty.

The loss of trust in your own ability to believe everything will be okay.

These losses are not equal.

They do not need to be.

Grief is not a competition.

Saying goodbye to a place did not hurt like losing my son.

But that place mattered because it became part of how I learned to carry losing him.

It gave me peace when peace felt impossible.

It gave me room to breathe when grief had taken the air from my lungs.

It brought me friendships born from shared sorrow and sustained by shared hope.

Of course, saying goodbye hurt.

Sometimes we do not only grieve the thing itself.

We grieve who we were there.

We grieve what it gave us.

We grieve the safety we felt within it.

We grieve the chapter of our life that is closing. 📖

What Remains 🌤️

The land may no longer be ours to visit.

The fear from this week may take time to settle.

There may still be questions without answers.

But some things remain.

The peace I found there remains in me.

The friendships remain.

The purpose remains.

Karleigh is healing.

Our prayers were answered.

Our family is breathing a little easier.

And the women brought together in that sacred place are still connected, no matter where we gather next.

Maybe that is what I am carrying forward from this week.

Places change.

Circumstances change.

Fear rises.

Grief surprises us.

But love keeps building bridges between what was and what comes next. 🌉💛

And for now, that is enough hope to hold.

Love and Light

~Mandy