Mature Grief

I posted this on instagram but I wanted to have it with my blog for blog book purposes so I've just copied and pasted it here:

Mike and I went to a baptism today in Colorado Springs. After, we went to the grave. I found myself tearing up a few times at the baptism. I am not sure how to explain it but they weren't necessarily sad tears, just tears. Laila would have been baptized last May and when her birthday came, I acknowledged the day and the significance of the eighth birthday (in my religion children wait until they turn 8 to be baptized) but it was more of a, "Yes, I know what today is. It's okay." I felt it and noticed it but it didn't push me down or throw me far off course. It isn't a day that came out of nowhere. If she had died when she was 7, her 8th birthday would have gutted me. But she didn't. She died at 3 months and I guess what I'm realizing is that not only does grief have a way of maturing you, but grief itself, matures. She died 8 years and ten months ago and when it first happened, it was heavy, crushing, and dark. The grief was still in it's fresh, new, immature stages. Now, it feels like a mature grief, meaning, it has changed, become a part of our life, and doesn't need the same things or emotions. I'm not really sure how to describe this in words. The tears today show that it still waves at me. It still grabs my attention and reminds me of loss and pain but what I need to feed my grief is different. It has matured and settled. It will always be with me but it feels more like a constant, quiet friend now instead of the needy, take all my attention kind of friend. I'm explaining this horribly...I guess I just feel grateful that I can sit at a baptism today and feel multiple feelings but not need to escape or feel broken for days but I can say, "Oh hey. Yes, I see you, grief. You know what, we missed this big day but she is perfectly clean already, waiting for me. You can hang out for a minute but that's good enough."