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James and my sister returned to work this week. February vacation ended, and so the girls are back to their regular school routines. My father is back east at his home in Cape Cod managing the logistics that come with loss of life.

And I’m here. Waiting. Waiting for this baby to arrive. Waiting to not feel cut with so much pain. Waiting for this to feel like reality and not some horrible nightmare. Waiting to not feel so overwhelmed. By everything. Waiting through the grief. Waiting through the final two weeks of pregnancy. Waiting.

When I’ve let myself fully absorb this loss, I find myself in a state that is so very primal, so visceral, that I can only compare it to the primacy and pain of the deepest stages of labor. But it’s a purely emotional pain. One I cannot control, or shake, or change. One that does not bring me new life, but forces me to confront the loss of it. My mother is dead. And I am now living in The After. Just as I felt I joined a unique “club” upon becoming a mother, I feel I’ve joined a devastating tribe of all those that are living daily in The After. And it feels hideous and unfair and like nothing for which anyone could prepare you.

I have to get by, moment to moment. Piece by piece. And the imminent arrival of this baby is forcing a pause, a purgatory, a waiting. I am simultaneously desperate for him/her to arrive to redirect my attention and provide comfort and love in a deeper capacity than I could have ever fathomed, and yet terrified of what it means to become a mother to this new life as I confront living without my own.

The shock is wearing off, and with it, the anger and the pain and the sadness and the desperation become more consuming and present. Yesterday, I was in such a state of rage and disbelief. Despite all those trying to lift me into the light, I found myself hiding under covers, screaming in outrage and pain, and not knowing how to pull myself from the grip of fear and despair.

But grief comes in waves, as with most cliches, it’s an apt and true metaphor. Tonight I was able to pull myself from the clutches of my bed to go to a hair appointment I’d scheduled over a month ago (knowing that my mother would give me grief over the state of my roots during the visit she had planned over her February school vacation). And I sat with the company of a friend and my stylist who provided laughter and conversation and relief for a few hours. I returned home to read bedtime stories and hold my children. And I felt momentarily at peace.

James has become the conduit and buffer to all those reaching out with so much love and support. He is managing all of our daily household logistics while riding the waves with me. Reacting and responding and adjusting and protecting and carrying when I simply cannot.

I hope one day to find the language to explain the depth of my love for him and the way he is anchoring our family and taking care of us all. I am experiencing an entirely new, although not unexpected, side of my partner. One that you trust will manifest when life throws such hideous shit your way, but you are grateful to not have had to test or experience. But now is the time, and now he is stepping up in a way that he promised and vowed seven years ago, and I could not feel more grateful or humbled that he is my family.

When people ask him how I am doing, he uses the word overwhelmed. Because that’s just it. It is all so deeply overwhelming. The loss. The pain. The sadness. The anger. The shock. But also, the gratitude. And the love. Above all else, the love.

I am so moved by all the messages of support our family has received. From our dearest, closet friends, to those with whom I am barely acquainted, to long lost friendships from childhood, to those with whom I’ve connected only over this virtual space. And I am so comforted during a time when I didn’t know that was possible. While I do not have the energy or bandwidth to properly respond, know that those unanswered words provide deep support. And are helping to carry me through this limbo as I await the heartbreakingly bittersweet arrival of this new life.

Moment to moment. Piece by piece. Breath by breath.