Eleven years later, taking care of my senior eleven-year-old dogs. Every morning, I push a stroller, and every night I put on their diapers.
Things I never got to do for a child.
The sound of the stroller wheels hitting the cracks in the sidewalk and the soft crackle of the diaper tabs make me realize that this tough end-of-life season for the girls is heartbreaking and heart-healing.
I never got to drown in dirty diapers.
I never got to push the stroller.
And now, as I am doing both for two elderly dogs, I realize that a piece of my heart that was still gapingly broken from failed infertility treatments is being healed.
Grief is such a funny thing.
It will constantly catch you off guard.
It will change and grow different as your life and healing grow around it.
It will never, ever leave you.
Because love never leaves.
When you dare to open yourself up to love you guarantee you will grieve. Both are beautiful, and both are worth it.
Love hard, grieve hard.
What I am learning most, especially the more the years pass since our dream of having kids died, is that the grief, especially when you meet it with love, will leave you wide open to receive all the love.