Love Again


It’s a perfect fall day, bright and sunny yet slightly cool and crisp. I am nine months pregnant, counting down the last 11 days until my due date. Hospital bag packed, ready at a moment’s notice.

Then, I received a phone call from an unfamiliar hospital asking me to come right away because my dad had just arrived in an ambulance.

My mind raced as I pleaded with the nurse, again and again, to tell me what had happened and that I would be there soon but let me get someone to drive me because I was very pregnant and didn’t know where I was going and could she please just tell me if he is OK.

“I’m sorry, but your father has passed.”

The guttural cry that until then I had only heard from animals or in Lifetime movies escaped my body as I fell to my knees, my dog anxiously pleading with me with his eyes, trying to lick my face.

Running into the hospital, I refused the wheelchair being offered to me by staff who thought I was in labor. Sitting with my dad’s still, warm, lifeless body, I hold his hand while cradling my belly that holds the new life inside me.

Walking out of that hospital, I knew my life would never be the same.

Less than three weeks later, in a different hospital, I held my newborn baby boy, who has my dad’s eyes, in my arms for the first time.

I am no longer “Daddy’s little girl,” and I am a little boy’s “Mommy” all at once.

One of my major sources of unconditional love, affection, and adoration had vanished. A new recipient of my unconditional love, affection, and adoration had appeared.

My heart weeps and expands at the same time. My tears fall from sorrow and joy. My soul is heavy with pain and new love.

Walking out of that hospital, I knew my life would never be the same.

My son will be nine this month, so it will also be nine years since I lost my dad. I never have to do the math on how long it has been.

I am amazed at the commonalities of grief and love. How with the death of a loved one and the arrival of a new baby, I have learned to expect the emotions of the big moments – holidays, birthdays, and all the “firsts.”

But how it’s the little moments, the simple, uneventful things that take my breath away – a song, his handwriting, a recording of his voice.

My heart, now broken, has been cracked to let more love in. My grief knows no end, just as my love knows no end. I grieve because I loved. And now I love again.

Previous articleReflections on Tent Camping From a Rookie
Next articleParenting Beyond the Toddler Years
Cindy lives in Trumbull with her husband, two active little boys (2014 and 2017), and an equally active Jack Russell. Born and raised in New Jersey, Cindy went to college out west (CU Boulder) and met her husband while living in Hoboken and working in NYC. She started in corporate fashion, left after eight years to pursue her acting career, and also worked in social media for a nonprofit. She is now a full-time mom, a member of the Wellness Committee at her sons' school, and enjoys reading and attending book club each month. She loves moving her body, especially anything active with her boys, and quieting her mind with tapping and meditation.


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here