Who Are You Living For?

There is a conversation that happens over and over again after a child dies.

People look at us and say, "But you have to keep going. Your other children need you. Your spouse needs you. Your family needs you."

And they're right.

They do.

But I think there's another conversation we don't have nearly enough.

Who are you living for?

When William died, I had no idea how I would survive. How could I keep breathing when my child wasn't? How could I keep living in a world that no longer contained him?

It didn't make sense.

No one hands you a roadmap for this. No one warns you that your child might die before you do.

We see stories on the news or hear about the tragedy that happened to a friend of a friend, but it never truly crosses our minds that it could happen to us.

Until it does.

And then suddenly, even taking the next breath feels impossible.

Many of us don't want to be here anymore. We don't necessarily want to die, but we desperately want to be where our child is. We want the impossible. We want them back.

Even when we have other children to raise, partners to love, jobs to do, responsibilities to carry, there is a part of us that whispers, I can't do this.

So we push through anyway.

We get out of bed.

We make lunches.

We sign permission slips.

We drive to soccer practice.

We smile when we can.

And people call us brave and strong, while inside we feel like ghosts moving through someone else's life.

For a long time, I thought I was surviving for everyone else.

For Kai.

For Bodhi.

For Nick.

For William's legacy.

But somewhere along the way, I realized that wasn't enough.

Because if I only existed for other people, what happened when they grew up? What happened when they didn't need me in the same way? What happened when I was alone with myself?

I had to learn something much harder.

I had to choose me.

I had to believe that I was worth saving.

That my life still held value.

That I mattered simply because I existed.

Not because I was someone's mother.

Not because I was useful.

Not because other people needed me.

But because I am a human being worthy of living.

Of course I want to make William proud.

Of course I want to show up for my living children.

Of course I want to be here for the people I love.

But I finally understood that I also needed to show up for myself.

I remember the moment that truth landed in my body.

There was something inside me that deserved fighting for.

And I was right.

I am important.

I matter.

I am worth taking the next breath.

And once I believed that, it became easier to take the one after that.

And then the one after that.

The love I have for my children still carries me every single day.

But now I know something else too.

I am worthy of carrying myself.