It’s bipolar city around here, kids.

I’m sure you have noticed that my entries go from the pit of despair to the heights of elation. So if you think it makes for interesting reading you should try living it. Or not.

I know it seems wacko, I can feel it when I type these up, but it is honest. That is really how life feels since Joel was born. And died. I have a son. In heaven. I trusted my body and gave birth naturally. And it failed my baby. I had an effortless pregnancy. That ended in tragedy. People are so incredibly good. When you lose your child. I had a super day. Without my baby. See?

And today the sun is shining, my husband is home (be it ever so temporary, here is better than not here), I am basking in hope.

And it has been four months since Joel left us for heaven.

I can capture the highs, and bring you with me to the lows, but this place where I see both is just too bizarre for eloquent ramblings. And I am starting to believe this is the place where healthy grief meets healthy living. This sort-of uninspired middle ground where words elude me, but my broken heart still allows a smile and a joke. I know the bad days are lurking, I can feel them hiding around the corner like a stalker with a vicious temper. But the goodness of life right now holds them at bay like a bodyguard with exceptional training and a great big spotlight.

It’s like my life is a large room. Being pregnant and having a baby expanded that room, there is a new section. It is now hopelessly and pathetically empty. In the early days after he left all I could do is sit in the empty part and see how empty it is now, pining over the things that were once there, the things that should fill that space, and mourning how full it was when it was built. And then, slowly but surely I began to wander back through the rest of the room which is filled to bursting with bright, colorful loveliness. The stunning beauty of my abundant blessings all piled on top of each other, forcing the room to come apart at the seams.

Except for the empty addition, sparse and blank.

I wandered back and forth between the two; the contrast so shocking it demanded processing at every turn, eliciting long, tortured writings as my weary heart attempted to absorb that both of these opposite spaces could amass my one life.

Now I am coming to the realization that as startling as the contrast may be, it is permanent. It is who I am now. I am both the lovely and bright and the dark and cold. I am full and empty. Mourning and joyful. A childless mother. I am Sara Joy and I am Joel’s mom, opposite but not incompatible. Whole yet incomplete, in a room that is yet to be finished.