Page 72 of Raising Love
“I… I didn’t lose a spouse,” I admitted softly. “I lost my best friend. A woman who I considered to be my sister. So much so, I agreed to be her baby’s godmother when she asked me—two weeks after learning she was pregnant.”
Rylee nodded gently, encouraging me to continue.
“But then,” I said, my voice faltering as I pressed a hand to my neck, “weeks before she was due to give birth…” I took a shaky breath, feeling the tears slipping free, “she and her husband died in a car accident.”
“Oh, God.” Rylee’s tone softened as she reached into her bag, retrieving a sheet of tissue. “Here,” she said, holding it out to me.
I took it gratefully, pressing it to my eyes. “She had a will,” I continued. “In it, she named me and our friend—her husband’s best friend—as guardians of a baby neither of us knew anything about raising.”
“Wow,” Rylee said, the weight of her breath matching the weight in her tone.
“And I just feel like I’ve been drowning in everything since I got the news.”
Rylee placed a hand gently on my shoulder. “Let’s sit,” she said, guiding me to a pair of chairs near the now-empty meeting area.
Through the pill-sized windows of the basement, I could see shoes tapping along the sidewalk above us, the sound faint but steady. The world above carried on, but for a moment, it felt like just the two of us here.
“I can’t help feeling like I have no idea what I’m doing,” I confessed, dabbing at my eyes. “It feels like I’m making it all up as I go. I’ve read every baby book, every parenting guide. And while they make me feel like I could conquer a classroom of toddlers…”
Rylee chuckled softly.
“...they don’t talk about the exhaustion, the doubt, or the imposter syndrome,” I continued. “Which I’m already familiar with, being a sports commentator for a living.”
Rylee’s eyes lit up. “Wait—Free-Throw Nation? That’s you, isn’t it? I knew you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it!”
“Yeah.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “But you probably didn’t recognize me because I look a mess these days. And, honestly, I haven’t cared too much about that lately.”
“You look amazing,” she said sincerely, nodding for emphasis. “And trust me, I know exactly what you’re going through. It gets better.”
She turned more toward me, her posture softening. “I was exactly where you are now. Grieving the loss of my best friend—the one person I’d known since before I could walk or talk. We had just had a baby months before his passing. My oldest was barely one when he died.” She paused, her voice trembling slightly. “And if that wasn’t enough, I found out I was pregnant again not long after his funeral.”
“Wow.” I shook my head, swallowing hard.
“It was a lot. Almost too much. But you know what saved me?” She leaned forward slightly. “Community. There was an outpouring of help, more than I even knew what to do with. And for once in my life, I didn’t refuse it. I had to learn that while no one could take away the pain I was feeling, they could help with the everyday things so I’d have the space to process it all.”
I nodded, her words hitting close to home.
“I wanted to curl up, shut everyone out, and deal with it all on my own. But I had to let people in. Because even though no one could truly understand what I was going through, they still wanted to help. And that made all the difference.”
I scoffed softly. “My mother said the same thing.”
Rylee smiled knowingly. “Sounds like your mom is a wise woman.”
“She has her moments,” I admitted.
Rylee giggled.
“The good news,” Rylee continued, “is that it does get better. The bad news is that the pain? It never really goes away.”
I pressed my lips together, letting her words sink in.
“The grief pops up at the most random times,” she explained. “Not just on anniversaries or birthdays, but in the smallest, most unexpected moments. And that’s okay. My therapist taught me to feel it—to acknowledge it—and then to send it off with love. How you do that is up to you. For me, it’s hugging my babies, showering them with kisses until they’re sick of me.”
I laughed quietly, the image warming my heart.
“For others, it’s visiting their loved one’s favorite spot or simply letting themselves cry. And that’s okay too. Crying is a release, and sometimes it’s all you can do.”
I nodded, my throat tightening with emotion.
