Surf's Up

I've missed my little girl something fierce lately.  It happens this way.........I go for a time....days, maybe even weeks without the pain being quite as intense and then suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere, it returns full force.  I've long ago given up the notion that I might be able to figure out what makes some days better than others.  The pain, it's ebbing and flowing, is simply a part of life, a normal aspect of grief.   I am no longer compelled to fight against it.  I grab the board and hang on for dear life, knowing that it's best to ride with the waves.

I love having my family all around me.  There is nothing on earth that brings me more joy.  Yet it is this very thing, my life's greatest pleasure, that brings about the very keen awareness that all is not as it should be in our world.  When we're all together, there's somebody missing, my life's greatest sorrow. 

I missed her as we prepared for Thanksgiving.  I wondered what would be her favorite kind of pie and who she would have sat close to around the big table for the grandkids.  As we shopped on Black Friday, I missed her tiny hand in mine and ached at the sight of the sweet little girl clothes.  Would she have something that she desperately wants for Christmas this year?   We listened to Christmas songs on the radio as we drove, as we hung the stockings, as we put up the tree and every song somehow reminds me of her. Every reminder of her brought a stab to my heart, a lump to my throat. 

As I hung her stocking, which stands out among the rest,  my heart clenched tight. It doesn't matter that there two extra stockings this year, one for Kruz and one for Anna.  Her's will remain empty... always....and that will hurt.....always. 

 We hung her new ornament and the reality that this is our fourth holiday season without her felt like a punch to the midsection
. 

 I love this tradition of hanging a new ornament every year for her. Each ornament representing another year without her is treasured, cherished.  Still, they hang, glistening and beautiful, a glaring reminder of the time that has passed without her.  A gentle reminder that each day brings us closer to her. 

 

Thanksgiving

My dear sweet Laynee Grace,

It's Thanksgiving today, another one without you.  Today in church, emotions warred within me.  My heart is grateful for so much but thankfulness walks hand in hand with the hurt that runs deep inside of me.   On this day, I choose to focus on thanksgiving rather than the hurting.

I am thankful that you, my sweet girl, are my daughter.  Nothing can change that, not even death.  I will be your mommy forever and that brings me so much joy.  I am thankful for this sweet little boy in my arms right now, he does not fill the void that your abscence leaves, but he does fill my aching arms.  I am thankful for family - your daddy, your brothers and sisters and for so many friends who are loyal and true to us.  I am thankful for this wonderful country that we live in and the foundation that it was founded upon.  But more than anything else in the world, I am thankful for the gift of salvation and eternal life.  Because of this, I know that I will hold you again someday.  And that, dear Laynee, that is what gets me through each painful day without you.

Happy Thanksgiving.  I LOVE YOU.

While We Wait

 

It seems I am failing miserably at this blog thing. This is partially due to lack of time but more due to the fact that I have much that I would like to share about sweet baby boy but still need to maintain a level of confidentiallity where he is concerned. He is a major happening in our house but there is much to be determined about his future and for this we remain discreet. I find it easier to not post at all than to try to post about life events without detailing this one, biggest event. I am, however, a bit appalled to find that I didn't even have the decency to post an update that he was finally released from the hospital. My apologies and deepest thanks and appreciation to all who diligently prayed and continue to pray for him.

Baby boy, whom we are referring to as "Kruz" while he is in our home, has been out of the hospital for three weeks. He is making huge progress in his growth and development and is pure, one hundred percent, sweetness. To say that his presence in our life has been disruptive would be a gross understatement. Yet, once again, I am amazed to find that life, regardless of the changes it brings, has a way of settling into a routine and a new normal is always established. So it is with this monumental change. We have adjusted, stretched, and molded him into our lives. Having him here means a little less sleep, earlier mornings, countless doctor's appointments and everyone pitching in a little more. It also means more softness and cuddling, more time spent in awe of the wonder of life, more soaking up the beauty of perfect simplicity, more moments that take our breath away.

This child, so sweet and so incredibly complex, has awakened something in me that I thought was dead, buried with my sweet baby girl. I cannot put a name to it. Healing??? Joy??? Redemption??? Perhaps a combination of all of these. Our days have been hectic and I feel pulled in a million different directions. Yet, in spite of the chaos, this child has brought a quietness to my soul in a way that nothing has been capable of doing since Laynee was taken from us. His soft, warm body fills the aching emptiness of my arms. He brings a smile to my face and joy to my heart. Still, I know that I will never know joy like I knew it before I became mother to a child in heaven. I know that I can never have that joy again on this earth. To have a child in heaven is to hurt in the very depths of who I am, a hurt that has no end, a hurt that is a part of every day, every thought, every breath. This hurt stems from an emptiness that no one and nothing can ever fill; nothing, that is, on this earth. In the meantime, we continue to love.......our children on earth, our child in heaven, and this child who, for now, is in our care.......we love them all and we wait, anxiously, for the the day when we will see her again.