Sully's cocoon

After writing last night I went to check e-mail and found this letter waiting for me from a dear friend who always seems to know just how to comfort and love me. It made me feel hopeful in moments when hopelessness was creeping back in. Brad and I had taken another baby step and driven far away for a very quiet lunch together. Just a few hours together - calm and healing. We had talked about a night away but I can't imagine yet being away that long - away from Sully's cocoon as my friend calls it. I realize she has named it for me, the reason stepping back into life seems so hard. Sully has flown but I find myself more grounded, my roots cemented. I want to stay in my house forever, in the place where he lived for his months in my belly and six days in all of our arms. He did weave this beautiful cocoon and I feel lost when I try to feel my way outside of it. I have asked permission to share my friends words, words that are hopeful and life-giving to me...

"Today, on a day washed clean by the rain, a day as warm as those that Sully came to you and to us, today you turned another page. You did something together with your husband - a trip away from home - a trip to let you see that you can leave the cocoon woven by Sully's presence.
Your grief surely will be at the center of everything you do as the days and weeks and months pass. But as time marches it will be swaddled and wrapped in new days and new events - a sunny morning, the fragrance of toast, the embrace of Ella or Zane, the switching tail of a cat, the unfurling of a daffodil, the kiss and understanding of Brad.
And one day, the layers over your grief will have softened it until it doesn't surprise you anymore with a sudden, involuntary flood of tears. Finally, the layers will let themselves be tenderly opened for a look inside at a precious memory, the pain mercifully dulled by the anesthesia of time.
I'm so looking forward to that for you and for Brad. It will come. Each day brings you another step closer..."