I saw some friends this morning. They gave me hugs and told me they’d been praying. I didn’t want to be the grieving girl. Grieving girls are sad, and I’d rather be the fun and happy girl. But I didn’t choose this path. I come home, worn from seeing people; but also encouraged to have seen them. I eat the rest of the brownies Ashley brought and take a lavender bath while the girls nap off their post-playground exhaustion. I wonder how Shawn’s doing today. It’s his grief too. It’s his son and his daughter too. What plagues me is the mindset that pushes me to hurry through all of this. People tell me to take my time, but the fast paced mentality of our society doesn’t make me feel very welcome to sit and feel sad for long. I think about how long we’ve known about these twins. “Miscarriage” doesn’t ever seem like the right word, does it? It feels too common. But no loss, even if someone has known something similar, is ever commonplace. It’s holy and it’s special, because love was there. Four years. That’s how long we knew we were “expecting” these twins. Although we didn’t always know we’d transfer them both at once. I don’t want to rush through this grief, because I know the only way to the other side is through. And that’s the most painful part. I want to feel the loss, as uncomfortable as it is to embrace. I want to cry one day, laugh and play with my girls the next, feel the heaviness the next day, and run carefree in the yard the day after that. I want this to be a space where joy and sadness and hope and grief and sunshine and tears can dwell together. Because God is in a space like that.