In the time since Morgan's death, many things have changed. On one hand, I have no patience for other people's crap. My husband has a friend from college whose biggest issue is apparently deciding whether to attend a wedding or a comic book convention on the same weekend. Must be nice if that's the toughest thing you have to deal with.
On the other hand, I now take time to see things that I completely missed out on before. Every day, the sun rises and sets, without fail. Our bedroom has a huge eastward facing window, so I can't miss it. But since losing Morgan, I now notice the brilliance of the sunrise. Just before the sun reaches its full glow, this beautiful deep pink stripe fills the sky. I like to think of it as a sign from Morgan.
A few nights ago, I cried myself to sleep, missing out on all of the things we should be experiencing with our little girl. Usually, when I have a bad night, I also wake up in a bad mood. This day, I woke up one minute before the alarm, and rolled over to a very intense, focused ray of sunlight shining directly on me. And I was in a good mood! Several days later, on a wet, soggy morning, I was laying in bed telling myself that I needed to get up. Out of nowhere, that focused beam of sunlight broke through the clouds, then went away.
Some babyloss mamas talk about butterflies suddenly landing nearby; I've got my personal ray of sunshine. As I write this, I realize it's pretty fitting. I call my husband Sunshine, and I use to joke with him that our kids would be little rays of Sunshine. I guess that part of the story actually came true.