For so long, I've blamed myself for Leo's death.
Surely I did something wrong. Surely I was being punished. Surely something was wrong with me. Surely I didn't deserve to be a mom.
I Hate the phrase, "everything happens for a reason."
I wrestle with it constantly, I do believe in Divine intervention. Exquisite timing of the Universe. But I hate to go down that path because it feels like admitting, "everything happens for a reason," including Leo dying. And that's just unfair.
But part of the problem could be that I am assuming the lesson is a bad one. What if it isn't?
What if the plan all along was that Leo would never have lived, and he needed a mom who could take him through that process? He needed someone like me. So I got to be his mom because I had the strength to let him go and I didn't know it, but he did and the Universe did. And so it was.
The question at the root of those thoughts is, "why?" What happened? Why did he die? I will never have that answer. I will never know. Not on a science-y level and not on an existential one.
The why has plagued me, especially during my second pregnancy out of fear it would happen again. But it didn't, which is even more dumbfounding.
So why probably isn't the best question to ask, though I'm sure I still will. My son died, what now? I don't totally have that answer either. I'm more ok with that.
What now? I know I want to live with intention, be a good mom, friend, daughter, wife. I know I want to make meaning of my experience. The finer details, I'll let unfold as they come because on some level, I know Divine timing is real and miraculous.