We’ve been away for the weekend to remember our friend Lachlan who died four years ago of cholangiocarcinoma. We went back to the spot where Lachlan’s family and a small group of friends scattered his ashes on the first anniversary of his death. I’ve been picturing Toren with us on this weekend. He would have been 8 months old, so I’ve been thinking about where in our bedroom we would have put the playpen and how he would have been crawling around grabbing at things. For mothers of stillborn babies, this seems to be part of “remembering”, a sad substitute for actual memories of a live baby outside of the womb. I haven’t done this kind of fantasizing for a few months now. I never assume one “stage” of the grief is completely gone when I move out of it. I just move in and out of various thoughts, feelings and experiences, whether anger, depression, shock, obsessive thoughts, calmness, agitation. Whatever comes my way. This is all part of the new normal. I don’t love it but I don’t fight it anymore like I did in the early days.