I had hoped to post this yesterday, but I spent the entire day recovering from the physical strain of the long and emotional day that was Friday. And I’ve spent today writing and rewriting this post in my head, again and again and again, and I just can’t ever make it sound right or adequate or nearly even close to what I want it to say. For all the thousands and thousands of words I have written here, and all the hundreds of thank you notes and emails I’ve written, I still find totally elusive the words I really need to express my gratitude for countless kindnesses bestowed upon Ed and me and our families over the past year. I have repeated the same words and phrases so many times that I fear they have become hackneyed and that they fail to express the profound depth of my appreciation for all the hundreds of ways you all have lifted us in love, encouragement, and support at the same time as you have grieved with us and borne witness to our grief over the devastating loss of our precious Hudson. From the very first time I posted that Hudson might be seriously ill, the love has just been overflowing and never-ending—emails, text messages, Facebook posts, blog comments, visits, meals, gifts, donations in Hudson’s name, One Good Thing bracelets, books for Hudson’s library collection, invitations to do things, reassurances during an anxiety-filled pregnancy, helping us try to find Ed’s lost journal, One Good Things on Hudson’s birthday, sharing with us how Hudson has affected your life, making Hudson’s bench a reality, reading the blog and sharing it with others, and simply saying Hudson’s name and remembering her.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (and here’s where I desperately wish for a magic pen to find adequate words): we could not have survived this year without all of you and your many, many gifts of all kinds, both tangible and intangible.
And Friday was no exception. The saddest of anniversaries, it was an arduous day, both physically and emotionally. But quite honestly, it was nowhere near as bad as I expected it to be. Some of that is just the normal pattern of this grief—the dread and anticipation of the hardest days and moments almost uniformly turn out to be much worse than the days themselves. But far, far more than that, the day was made lighter, softer, and more peaceful because of all of you again—hundreds of messages, posts, and comments of love and encouragement during the entire week between Mother’s Day and Friday, and throughout the day on Friday, each word successfully carrying a sliver of the weight of this awful grief for that day.
And then of course, there were the bubbles. Oh, the bubbles. I will write another post soon all about the bubbles, but for now, let me just say that every bubble I saw or heard about also helped carry a little bit of the weight of this grief, as I imagined each one carrying a tiny piece of Hudson’s spirit ever farther into the world where her light is so very needed.
For want of adequate words, I will just say it again. Thank you. From the very bottom of my heart. Thank you so much.