Sunrise: 7:41 am in Mattawan, Michigan. Beautiful, isn’t it? It seems like Michigan never fails to disappoint its residents in terms of weather. I woke up frantic because it seemed like I had been sleeping forever, and I was worried we had missed the sunrise. Thankfully, it was only 7:25 am. Ryan and I dragged ourselves out of bed and stepped outside. It was gloomy and our house is surrounded by trees, making it almost impossible to see a glimpse of even the most pronounced sunrise. We got in the car and started driving, hoping we could find something, anything that resembled a sunrise. I was pretty doubtful that we were going to find much, considering the sky was grey and full of clouds, but I was hopeful. This photo is the best we could find. We took the photo from our car because it was cold out and all I had on was a bath robe (not the smartest thing I’ve ever done). This wasn’t what I envisioned. I imagined waking up early, wrapping ourselves in warm blankets and cuddling on the back porch, while we watched bright hues of pink, yellow, and orange emerge from behind the trees and talked about Ava. But life doesn’t always pan out the way we envisioned. In fact, often times those visions are shattered to pieces. Bereaved parent know this all too well. When you lose a child, your entire world shatters. Everything you ever thought to be true is completely destroyed. A piece of you is forever missing. The beautiful thing about life, is that even though I didn’t get to see the sunrise today, I can still be hopeful that, God willing, I might catch a glimpse of it tomorrow. And this idea that hope is possible is what I hold onto when I imagine having to live a lifetime without Ava. To be honest, my heart doesn’t contain an ounce of hope today, but God willing, I might catch a glimmer of it tomorrow. My goal for the month is to find even the smallest amount of hope in this life. Hope that drives me to inspire others, to transform into the woman that I know my little girl would want me to be, to have enough passion about life to live fully, even though Ava can’t be here with me. It’s a lofty goal, and one that probably won’t be achieved in a month. I’m okay with that. I just need some sort of sign that, deep within my soul, hope still exists.