In the beginning, I only wanted this site to be about Evelyn. But I have come to realize that, like it or not, it is also about me.
The blog posts, while giving you a glimpse of the wonder and beauty that was our girl, more often give you a window into the tatters of my grieving heart, into the shocking and sickening road a mother or father must travel after their child's death.
And the response I have received has been overwhelming. I never believed when I first started that so many people would visit the blog or be so moved by my words. I needed, as I say on another page, a place where Evelyn could live on. And alongside that, a place where my experience as her mother could continue. That's what this site is for me. One of the few places in the world where I still get to be Evelyn's mom.
And that's the first thing I want everyone who comes here to know about me. I am still Evelyn's mom. Being a mother to my three children has always taken center stage in my life. But I am other things as well. And I thought it was about time I told you a little about the woman behind this blog.
The most significant role in my life, next to motherhood, is being a writer. This blog is a natural way for me to process and integrate my loss. Besides my posts here, I have long been a writer of young adult fiction. I landed my first book deal less than two months before Evelyn's passing. She was a staunch supporter of my work. Ironically, the book is about a family who lost a child. It released in October 2019 (you can read my post about it here).
If you'd like to learn more about my fiction work, you can visit my author website at www.avamorgyn.com.
Aside from that, I'm not sure how much more remains of the woman I was. I have read tarot, taught classes on crystal healing, and worked in holiday and floral design for many years. I once fancied myself a believer in all things mystical, but I don't believe in much anymore. I have a long ways to go towards repairing my faith in anything, if it can be done.
Death is nothing new to me, having lost parents young. But child loss eclipses all other kinds of loss. I have been brought to my knees by death at last. I have surrendered my unflagging optimism. You win, I've had to admit. You win.
I take small pleasures and simple joys wherever I can find them now and cling for dear life. This road is not without its prizes, but they are anemic consolations compared to the richness of life at her side. And yet, I am ever more grateful for every hint of beauty that beckons me forward. Keep walking, they call. However broken you feel, however empty, keep walking. There is still more to see.