It’s the only way I can describe it. The ten days since Julianna passed have been intense, and it feels like a lifetime.

It’s true what they say about the waves of grief, but it’s from an erratic ocean, one without pattern or rhythm. Sometimes the waves are massive and incapacitating. At others, they are just a trickle – a poignant memory, then an ache.

The ache is the hardest part. The intense pain is searing, but it goes away. It’s like throwing up – horrible, but there is relief afterwards. The ache stays and it gnaws and it drains. I can’t believe that she’s gone.

There has been comfort too. I want to share the things that comfort us, because I know that others are hurting with us.

Take comfort in this: It hurts so much because the love is so great.

It’s the price we pay for succumbing to love, and I’ll gladly pay it – a million times, over and over again. The only thing worse than the pain now is imagining a world in which Julianna had never even existed. Or wondering if I held back, left something on the table to protect my heart. I didn’t, I’m grateful,  so I’ll take the pain.

Take comfort in: the words of a child.

A few days after Julianna died, Alex said this: “You know the morning after Julianna died and Daddy was on the phone? The people on the phone were crying, and it made me feel good.”

Alex, age seven, has realized that sharing in someone’s grief is a gift. Crying tends to make people uncomfortable – but why? If you have loved and lost, there will be crying and tears. It’s not a big deal.

It is an act of love to share in someone’s grief. For us, anyway, it helps to know that Julianna was loved, and that others are sad with us. It tells us that she mattered, and that she is not forgotten.

Take comfort in….the Therapy Unicorn.

I promise to do an entry dedicated to the Tea Party. For now, let me introduce you to this guy. He’s one of the first things that people saw as they walked in.

We recognized that there would be sadness at the Tea Party – and because it was Julianna’s Tea Party, a Therapy Unicorn made perfect sense.

This unicorn was a gift to Julianna from a dear family friend. He came from a truck stop. (I’m serious). Julianna met him during her last semi-good hours. He was introduced to her as a talking, face-touching unicorn.

True to form, Julianna called it:

J: That unicorn is awkward.

This is the last picture we took of Julianna. The unicorn was a perfect TumbleForms pillow.

A massive pink and purple unicorn who hails from a truck stop? Yes, a little awkward. He has, however, become a comforting presence. He has mass and weight. He reminds us of her and makes us laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.