It’s 10:30pm the night before Poppy was born. This time last year I was going to bed knowing I wouldn’t sleep through the night. It was our due date and the baby was coming.

Two weeks ago I started a 100-Day Challenge: practice yoga, meditate, and write every single day. I’m 14 days in and I’m already reaping benefits. The writing, yoga, and meditation trifecta slows me down and brings balance to my mind and body.

I haven’t written much these days. Not for myself. Not for this blog. I spend a fair amount of time thinking about writing, but I just haven’t had the discipline to get the thoughts out of my head and onto the screen.

Today was a glorious summer day in Portland, Oregon. I can see Mount Hood’s snowy peak from where I’m sitting. My husband and I are visiting Portland this week as we participate in the World Domination Summit.

I’m going to write about something in this blog post that feels really personal, totally intimate. I’m scared to do this, but I feel like I have to…

I wonder how my future self is going to feel when I look back on this first eight months without Poppy — this intensely spiritual period of grieving.

My most tangible memory of Poppy are her hiccups. Towards the end of my third trimester she got hiccups every day. Once her head was down, I could reliably rest my left hand on my lower abdomen and feel as she rhythmically hiccuped in my womb. I miss those little beats so much.

I woke up this morning with a burning desire to write. My mind is constantly processing. I have moments each day where I think, “I’ve got to write that down or I’m going to forget it.” Words seem inadequate though. Here’s why — I’m starting to feel joy again. From deep within my being. Real joy.

I gave birth to Poppy 8 months ago today. I’ve lived without her almost as long as she was living inside me. Time is passing quickly and yet these last 8 months feel like an eternity. Life is so different without her, without the dream of her.

I knew before getting into bed last night that I wasn’t going to sleep well. The last words that drifted from Eli’s lips as he wrapped his arms around me were “you’re so comfortable.” As I sunk into his warmth, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking just how uncomfortable I am these days.

A few months ago I started meditating in the morning. This meditation was a result of feeling incredibly disconnected and scattered throughout the day. I’ve meditated off and on for over a decade now, but this time it feels different. This time I’m meditating for Poppy.

Before Eli and I even left the hospital, we both resigned that he was going to take the next 12 weeks off of work. I had already arranged for 12 weeks of “maternity leave” with my job, but Eli had only planned on taking off 4.

I’m on the way home from the retreat, back to the real world. Home to my darling husband and my sweet puppy. After flying from Winnipeg to Vancouver, I had to pass through U.S. Customs and Border Protection.

I’m in Canada in the Whiteshell Provincial Park, almost 2 hours east of Winnipeg, Manitoba. I flew here to participate in a week long holistic retreat for grieving mothers called Landon’s Legacy Retreat. There are 28 of us. We are all so beautiful, so courageous, so vulnerable.

My dad is a renaissance man. He has so many talents. Actor, athlete, gardener, woodworker. When he crafts something from wood he uses hand tools. He prefers using glue over screws or nails because, as he once told me, the finished project looks more refined.