Reflections in the Quiet Snow
from the heart of a fellow traveler —
“Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
You were bigger than the whole sky
You were more than just a short time”
This morning, I stepped outside into a world untouched by the day, quiet, still, and blanketed in fresh snow. It felt sacred, almost like the earth itself was taking a deep breath before the chaos of life began again. I took my camera out, capturing these fleeting moments of peace, and found myself reflecting on how much life has changed in the past year.
Becoming a parent has transformed me in ways I never imagined. It hasn’t just been about meeting a new little person, it’s been about meeting a new me. I’ve had to grow, adapt, and face realities I never dreamed I would. My grieving journey doesn’t look like most. I process by sharing my story, by talking to others, by turning my pain into something that, hopefully, helps someone else feel less alone. I’m truly a Pisces through and through. I feel everything so deeply, and I don’t hide my emotions. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and my grief is no exception. But even as I grieve out loud, I wrestle with an endless cycle of mixed feelings and intrusive thoughts. This is not how I pictured parenthood.
When we learned about the diagnosis, I dreaded the new year. And now, here it is—2025, the year I must face so many things no parent should ever have to. Parenthood is supposed to be full of firsts and milestones. You imagine your child outliving you, becoming an empathetic, loving, kind person who discovers the world in their own beautiful way.
But with this journey, I know I won’t get to experience any of that. 2025 means coming to terms with the fact that they won’t get to see the world I wanted to show them. I’ll never share my favorite foods with them, my favorite places. I’ll never know who they would’ve become. And I hate that. I am so, so angry about it. Not just for them, for me. Because I don’t just mourn the life they won’t get to live; I mourn the life I won’t get to live with them.
Taylor Swift really does have a song for everything. Bigger Than the Whole Sky has been my grieving anthem, especially these lyrics:
“You were bigger than the whole sky,
You were more than just a short time.
And I’ve got a lot to pine about,
I’ve got a lot to live without.
I’m never gonna meet what could’ve been, would’ve been,
What should’ve been you.”
This is just one of those quiet, reflective moments that come late at night or early in the morning when the world feels heavy but somehow peaceful. I don’t have a perfect bow to wrap this up with, I don’t think I ever will. But I’m here, and I’m sharing, because I know I’m not the only one navigating something that feels impossibly hard.
If you’ve read this far, thank you for holding space for me, for my story, and for all the feelings I’m still trying to untangle.