I’ve known for a long time that I’m not someone who does well with loss. Which has made for a tough past year for me.

While I’m someone who loves to accomplish and can come across as very task- and detail-oriented in my work, what lives at the core of who I am is someone who simply wants to love and be loved. Sometimes I feel like I could absolutely smother people with my affection. I get so excited every time someone offers a hug instead of a handshake. I oftentimes find myself caressing, touching and hugging without even realizing it. If you know anything about The Five Love Languages, it might make sense to you that my top two are quality time and physical touch… which means that I want to spend time with you and be physically present with you as well.

Jackson was the most fantastic buffer for my need for physical touch. He was my snuggle bug, my couch buddy, my lounge partner. That boy could not get enough of me, and I could not get enough of him. And when I lost him, I lost something so much more than just a dog. I lost a creature who understood me in a way no one else ever has… a creature who fulfilled a need that no other human has been able to.

And when it comes to humans, what means more than to connect with another on a deep level? To be known and to be loved?

I’ve been told by my mom for years that you never truly know love until you have a child. And I see it so often with David. I don’t know if he could ever love another human the way he loves Benjamin. I love that so much about him. Best. Dad. Ever.

It might come as a surprise to some that I so desperately want to be a mother given the fact that I love my work so much. But I long to be a real mother. Not a dog mom or a stepmom, but a mother who has raised a child, cared for them, dealt with the snot and the hugs and the poop and the snuggles.

I almost had the chance. And then they were snatched away, nearly as quickly as they came. The child and the dreams and the hopes and the plans. Just snatched away.

I knew for three weeks that I was carrying our child. And then we lost it. We had just seen the heartbeat in the afternoon, and then my tiny little baby was gone that night.

And before you can think that three weeks was barely enough time to think about much at all, please know that all of the dreams I wouldn’t let myself dream until there was physical proof were bigger than I could have known. Those hopes and plans rushed over me and consumed every moment. The knowledge that a life depended upon me and my choices was staggering and welcomed all at once.

I grieved so hard for the first few weeks. I couldn’t function.

And then I poured myself into work and life. Because work needs to be done, bills need to be paid, dinner needs to be cooked, dogs need to be taken out.

And lately the grief has been coming back to me in waves. I don’t expect it, and then I see a child on TV and can’t stop the tears from falling. I talk to friends about wanting to be a mom and can’t keep it together. I find myself frustrated with the puppy we’re raising and wish I could just trade him for the dog I lost.

When does loss get easier? I know that these things work themselves out and make us stronger, but I can’t help wishing to just have those things back that I’ve lost…