A Prism of Light

The definition of 'rainbow' according to the free dictionary online is: n. a bow or arc of prismatic colors appearing in the heavens opposite the sun and caused by the refraction and reflection of the sun's rays in drops of rain.

The storm of losing a child, the rainbow which appears after the storm, the hope that the rainbow symbolizes all create an over whelming emotional response within me. Every time I see a rainbow, I think of Emily and our story with her.

I think of the shock immediately after she died. I think of the waves of grief that crashed upon Joel and I as we rocked our dead baby, feeling her warmth slip away. I think of that day, with all the rage, with all the helplessness, with all the panic, with all the craziness. I think of this in a split second when I see a rainbow. 

And in the next second I feel peace. Incredible peace. 

I feel trust. I feel hope. 

And I know 100% that Emily is with Jesus. In heaven. 

Hope fulfilled.  

But yet, she is beyond my reach. Beyond the rainbow of delightful light. Beyond my grasp. So beautiful yet so untouchable. And I savor the moment of the rainbow. For it will soon be gone. Just like Emily. 

And I marvel: How can such a good God cause such utter pain? How can a beautiful rainbow created by a beautiful God be gone in the blink of an eye, with no sound and no warning? How can a beautiful child, created in the image of God Himself, slip so silently away, never to be returned?

And somehow, joy and sorrow meet again. As friends, I hope. While one rages, the other silently listens. And in turn, joy may exude itself while sorrow waits.

There is much joy to be had on this day, Emily's Heaven Day. For this day, is when my ultimate dream as a parent came true: my child to be in heaven with Jesus. In everlasting happiness, dancing and praising the Creator of all things beautiful. Where she will feel no pain, imagine no nightmares and never be poked or tubed again. No more silent screaming and crying. Where Satan can never touch her. She is free and she is full of joy. I never need to pray for her, I no longer need to be on my knees for her. To plead with God for her soul, to ask Him to protect her from the evil one. Like I do for my other four children.

Of course, this day happened far too soon for me. I had other dreams, too, other hopes for the future. I wanted years of memories with Emily. Three full carseats for the trip home from the hospital. To nurse her, bathe her, to see her first steps, to watch her grow and teach her how to survive and thrive and sing. To never dread the questions: "How many children do you have?" "Are these all your children?" "So what ages are your kids?" 

And then, there are moments like these, where sorrow nor joy are vocal. They are silent. And I feel...nothing. 

I close my eyes and I pray. I thank God for the children He has permitted me to keep. I thank Him for the wonderful man He has given to me for a husband, my rock. I thank Him for the peaceful beauty of nature, for there I can see Him. And when I see Him, I see Emily.

“I would not move forward if it meant leaving Emmy behind. I don’t know how anyone can pretend a child never existed, take down their pictures, remove their things…No, I do not leave her behind and “move on”, I move forward, with all 5 children–one running a bit ahead…just out of sight.” -from 'RaisingArrows.net'