Freya Everly

It’s been one month since we lost Freya. We’re still going through the motions of what it means to “live”, trusting that it will fall into place on its own if we keep up with our routines. Some days are unbearably hard and others are a bit softer. December 22nd was the day our world shattered, and we immediately entered a timeline where we experience the worst kinds of “firsts.”

When you have young kids the “firsts” are incredible—they warm your heart and give you hope; you live in a place of such happiness. The firsts we are experiencing now are the kind you push away and don’t want to face. We’ve had our first Christmas without Freya. Our first New Year without her. We sought strength while we planned our daughter’s memorial and stood with everyone who loved Freya. We broke down on the day she was supposed to go back to school. We’ve bravely faced our first outings into the world without her.

And today marks our first month without Freya.

Usually writing is a type of therapy for me. The words will flow and help me process whatever I’m carrying in life. I’ve yet to feel a pull to write and I can’t find the words to describe what we’re experiencing. Planning and making Freya’s memorial so personal felt therapeutic and meaningful to me, but today on this “first” I just feel lost and homesick for our girl.

Losing a child is a lonesome road to walk. Not a day goes by that we don’t think of her. Sometimes we feel a sense of peace that life and death are both a part of our journey, and we hope and trust that we’ll see and feel Freya again. But other days we’re raw and feel utterly exposed to the painful elements of loss—as though we’re holding still as an impossibly cold frostbite claims us.

Words can bring a vivid and evocative shape to what we’re experiencing— and we’re starting a path to root some of those thoughts and words into… something.

I don’t think we have a full sense of what our writing will encompass—but this is our opening message to you all: we want to talk openly with you about grief and break away from the loneliness it brings. Grief brings pain, but also so much opportunity for human connection and the best kind of reflection. We are learning how to walk with grief—because it will be a lifelong walk with it by our side, where we imagined Freya would be. We want to share what has helped us and what sucks. Our favorite sad songs and how we find our way to laughter. We want to share the dark and the light.

We plan to do amazing things to honor Freya’s memory, and those will start taking shape in the coming weeks with fundraisers and hopefully some ideas from you all. We knew this before, and it’s held in her absence—Freya inspired the best in us all. Whether you were thick as thieves with Freya, or only got to hear us re-tell her tales, we’d love for you to follow along and join us on this walk. Whether this brings about something powerful and long-lasting for Freya’s legacy or simply serves as a means for us to process and soften the rough edges of sadness, we are starting this writing journey and are open to whatever it may bring.

We love you all.

We can do hard things, so just keep swimming.

-Melissa