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Today I took on the task of cleaning what was supposed to be my Edy's room. But my Edy isn't here to fill up this room with her presence. This is a little more heart breaking than I thought it would be. That's the not so funny thing about grief. It's sneaky and it lies in wait like the proverbial prankster ready to leap from behind a hidden corner and shout, "Boo!" giving me, the griever, a bit of a shock. I sat in a chair and looked at this room and remembered how much Dustin hated painting it. That's how much he loves me and how much he loves his daughter. He was willing to paint this room whatever color I wanted so Edy could have a beautiful room to grow in. There are alot of dreams that I am sorrowing the loss of. Dreams where I would get to hold my little girl, feed her, cuddle her, get exhausted by her, watch her smile for the first time, watch her eyes begin to recognize that I am Mommy and Dustin is Daddy. I wanted that more than I was willing to admit at first. When I was single, moving past what I thought was my prime, "what-a-catch" time, I told myself I was ok single, I didn't want to be a wife or even a mother someday. If God wanted me single I was totally ok with that.
Thankfully, God loves me very much and had a better idea of what was good for me. In walks Dustin Mahler, unwittingly tearing down all of my carefully placed protections, and literally throwing me way off course with one, very cheesy and beautiful grin. I remember watching him walk up the driveway to my house, wearing a blue-tooth in each ear, and smiling at his own hilariously funny joke (so he thought). I remember noticing that the setting sun made him look like he was shrouded in a thin veil of gold. I remember laughing, because I did (and still do) find him  hilarious. I remember my laughter fading fast the closer he got to me and with a silent, "oh crap" I knew I was in love. My future as I saw it changed drastically in that moment. Dustin Mahler, best friend, became Dustin Mahler, best friend AND spouse. You literally can't beat that. I know I scored and I'm not afraid to admit it.
I'm looking at the one and only item of clothing I bought my daughter. A green onesy with an electric guitar on it and the words, "my dad rocks!" My girl was gonna be a bad ass dresser. My girl was a fighter and I wanted the world to know that she was fiercely wanted and loved by her mommy and daddy. She still is.
I miss her. I miss getting to find out if she would look more like me or Dustin. I miss her beautiful little face. The moment she was born, everything in me melted into the biggest puddle of mush. She looked so impish and yet so sweet, as if she knew something I didn't and thought it was hilarious that grown up mommy couldn't see what she saw.
My Edy knew her mommy was full of crap. She knew that her mommy was made to be hers. She knew that before I did. She knew that my safe-guards and  misconceptions of self broke the moment I saw her. How could I not want this beautiful little being that fought so hard for eight months? How could I not want to risk this same heart ache to try again someday? I think she was laughing.
Today, I love you Edy. Today, I miss you Edy. Today, I am beginning to hope that someday I will get to hold another baby and tell that baby all about it's big sister Edy. Today is for you my Edy because mommy sure loves you.


  1. Thank you, Mariam! I am so inspired by your love and bravery.


  2. I've never loved another, one I've never met, as much as I love your Edy right now. I love her for her strength, I love her for her beauty, determination, I love her for her message of will power... but more than that, I love her for the strength she's instilled in you, for making you, Mariam, my friend, more beautiful than ever before, beautiful to the world, because she's passed onto you a beauty that comes from within and that is a beauty that's universal. I can see in you that same determination she so bravely showed for 8 months. The determination to ensure those nearest to you that life IS beautiful, no matter the heartache one may experience. The determination to share the important message that life IS precious, and incredibly valuable no matter how short or long lived. She is with you, that much is true. And may the message she was brought to share with us all live within each and every one of us daily. I love you both. Thank you, sweet Edy.

  3. Thank you for saying this! I am constantly reminded of the fact that God can turn the darkest roads into walks of discovery and joy. I am hurting, but the pain is so exquisite because I know it's building something beautiful in Dustin and I. It is unto something, of that I am very sure. Thank you for encouraging me.

  4. Oh Mariam. I'm just a mess. Daniel keeps encouraging me to blog because he said "People love hearing the realness in other people" There is nothing more raw, more real than your blog. It's open, it's painful, it's breathtaking, it's so beautiful, just like you and just like your Edy.

    Thank you for being so willing to be vulnerable. I think it will be a catalyst for healing, not just for you, but for many! You are one brave mama.

  5. Dan is right! I thought of you so often during my pregnancy, and even after. You inspire me to move forward and to continue to risk faith, even when it looks dire. Dustin and I know that there is no option for us but to continue to learn how to trust God in a deeper way. I don't understand our God, but I believe that He is wise and good and He truly knows what is best for me. On the surface it seems crazy to think like this, I mean He didn't heal Edy's body! But beneath the surface I am so sure of His grace. Thank you for being such a sister to me through your prayers and your love. I am so thankful for you and Dan......., so, yeah, you should write a blog!

  6. Holy cow Little Sister... should have had a warning at the beginning... "beware of on-coming heart break!!! do not read on your lunch break! "

    I am so proud of the woman you have grown into... you are truly breathtakingly beautiful, and Edy is blessed to call you "mommy"


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