of Echoes Past

Love and Death.

What time the mighty moon was gathering light

Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,

And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes;

When, turning round a cassia, full in view,

Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,

And talking to himself, first met his sight:

"You must begone," said Death, "these walks are mine."

Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight;

Yet ere he parted said, "This hour is thine:

Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree

Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,

So in the light of great eternity

Life eminent creates the shade of death;

The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,

But I shall reign for ever over all."

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

My daughter's birthday is a mixture of joy and sadness, gratefulness and longing, life and death. And though the above poem may not be completely theologically correct, it puts it in such a beautiful light. Though Emily passed through the shadow of death, Death will not reign eternal. Though she fought for life and we fought with her and for her, Death still won. But his win is totally temporary. In view of eternity, life wins out. Love champions. Emily's death is but a shadow, a blink of an eye, a breath. As is my life here on earth- a mist, and then I too will be gone. And then, together with Christ, Emily and I will dance in the light, where there is no more shadow.

14th May 2015

Dearest sweetest Emily,

     Your birthday is coming up. You will be seven years old. Seven! You are growing up so fast. I wonder what you look like now. What color is your hair? Are your eyes hazel like your siblings? What do you like to do in heaven? Are you an artist or an engineer? Do you enjoy music, do you sing to Jesus with your sweet voice? I'm sure you have a lovely voice. 

    Or maybe time is different in heaven. Maybe you are still an infant, a mere nine days old, and you are waiting for Joel and I so we can be with you as you grow up. 

    We all miss you Emily. We wish we could all be together as a family. Even now, at supper time, I think "someone is missing, there should be one more plate." And your siblings save a space for you in the van. In the back, in the middle. 

    That's where you would be. With us. Together. 

    We love you so much Emily Grace, full of light and hope fulfilled. Save a space for us in heaven, we'll be there when our Lord calls us home.

Love, your mommy

"Heavy"

Heavy

That time

I thought I could not

go any closer to grief

without dying

I went closer,

and I did not die.

Surely God

had His hand in this,

as well as friends.

Still, I was bent,

and my laughter,

as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

"It's not the weight you carry

but how you carry it-

books, bricks, grief-

it's all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,

put it down."

So I went practicing.

Have you noticed?

Have you heard

the laughter

that comes, now and again,

out of my startled mouth?

How I linger

to admire, admire, admire

the things of this world

that are kind, and maybe

also troubled-

roses in the wind,

the sea geese on the steep waves,

a love

to which there is no reply?

-Mary Oliver

A birthday is indeed a special day. Not just because they are another year older, though that is special. We celebrate Emily's birthday today because today symbolizes so much more. 

Today symbolizes her life lived here on earth, her near nine months in utero and her nine days outside of it. 

Today we remember the Breath that was breathed into her from an Almighty Creator who loves her more than I.

Today we celebrate the very simple but mind boggling fact that Emily is an immortal soul, a person created in the image of our God, a unique creation, beautiful and perfect.

Today we remember her birth, the miracle that no expert can explain, the moment when the labor of love is complete and we wait for that first cry, the cry for comfort and life.

Today is the day of Emily's birth. She may not receive any birthday cards in the mail or presents on her plate, but we will celebrate in other ways: Today we will remember, create, plant, enjoy, and sorrow. But always with hope. For we celebrate Emily with her, with Jesus. 

Apart from her but yet with her. 

"For when I am weak, then I am strong." 1 Cor. 12:10

Silent is Safe

I am a silent griever. For over four years I hid my grief from those on the outside. I pretended everything was ok. "How are you?" "I am good/fine/well." Inwardly, I was far from fine. I was a mess of emotions, confused and depressed.

Now, I am learning to come out, to be honest, to be open. I am learning to speak out Emily's story, to acknowledge her existence.

"I have FIVE children" has been one of the hardest things for me to say. To say I have four is an outright lie, yet I can silently grieve and no one knows my story. But when I say FIVE, people give me looks of confusion, sadness and pity. Sometimes they ask questions, sometimes they don't.

I cannot understand the outspokenness of so many bereaved moms on their correct number of children. I only look upon their openness with jealousy as I continue to hit a wall when opportunities of honesty arrive. Why is it so hard to be honest about how many kids I have? People see four, so they expect to hear "4". Does my fear of man run that deep in my heart that I cower before any questioning stranger? Where is the boldness I need?

Far too long I have mistrusted strangers and even friends with anything close to my heart.

Emily is close to my heart.
        Her entire story is close to my heart.
               To share Emily, even her number in the family line, is to expose my heart.

It is a trust issue.
Far too many times my heart has been trampled on and I have closed it off, but to a select few.

It looks like that might need to change.
I need to be willing to trust a stranger to see a glimpse of my beautiful Emily. And trust that her beauty and God's love will in turn open up that stranger's heart also.

Father's Day

Father's Day is about as bad as Mother's Day. There are the obvious reasons of course but there's also another: Sunday June 15th, 2008 Father's Day; we buried our third child, our second daughter.

I remember stumbling around the graveyard with Joel, just days after Emily's death, trying to find the "perfect" plot to bury my daughter. To bury. My daughter.

Finally, I chose a spot underneath a spruce tree, away from the other graves, in a quiet corner of the cemetery.

The next day, Saturday, Joel insisted on digging the hole himself. With the help of friends and a small backhoe he did it. He made the hole for our baby girl.

I'm not sure when we actually noticed it, but sometime around there we saw that her grave had 4-5 Juneberry trees on the east and west sides. Juneberry trees for our little June bug.

Sunday. The funeral. The memorial service. What a blessing it was despite the darkness of the reality. The worship time was phenomenal. I was able to praise my Creator with lifted hands and a grateful heart. The sharing time was precious. Friends and family shared different stories and thoughts and encouraging words. I'm so thankful we have this service on video (Thanks JoAnne!), because that day was a blur. I don't remember what the weather was like, whether the sun was shining or if it was chilly. I do remember the drive up to the graveyard. Close friends and family followed the hearse. At the gravesite we sang a song: And when my heart is overwhelmed, please lead me to the rock that is higher than I, that is higher than I. 

And the casket was lowered. My son Joshua, now 8 years old, remembers this. He was three.

And Daddy grieved, with the shovel in his hand. He throws the first bit of dirt and the sound of rock on our baby girl's casket is forever etched in my memory. I remember closing my eyes, not able to bear the weight of it all.

Finally, the hole was filled. My arms full of Rachel, 16 mo old, yet my heart was torn and empty.

I don't remember much after that. The rest of the day is blank, invisible, empty.

All I know is, though her body is in the ground, Emily's soul soars in heaven.

We press forward, we press on, looking forward to the day when we will join her and our loving Father.

Emily's Fifth

Joel here.  I've been working on a piano piece I'd like to share with you all.  I finished recording it on the 11th, Emily's fifth Heaven Day, so I titled it Emily's Fifth.  I think the music fits her well.  Actually, I think she even likes it!  Enjoy: Emily's Fifth

June 11th

Lying in bed not wanting to get up. 

Sun shining like it did five years ago. 

Roll out of bed. 

Push through the day. 

Four bright faces. 

Force a smile, mom. 

Beautiful, warm day. 

Canada geese honking, flying to the NE. 

Tears. 

Check email. 

Smile. 

Friends remember. 

I've got a head cold, nose is drippy all day. 

A picnic lunch on the deck. 

Eat with the kids, let them know they are loved. 

Cuddle with eldest daughter. 

A little friend comes over to play. 

More tears. 

Light a candle. 

Blog. 

Husband calls. 

Read. 

Rake the yard.

More tears. 

Eat Talenti Roman Raspberry. 

At last husband comes home. 

Warm hug. 

Relief. 

He makes supper. 

I bike. 

Slowly, let the wind wash over my face, through my hair. 

Think. 

More tears. 

The fog on the lake, it's lifting, dissipating. 

Blue water. 

Blue sky. 

Black flies bite, go home. 

Shower, at last. 

Butterfly pancakes and hashbrowns for supper. 

I smile. 

He smiles back. 

Clean up. 

Bedtime for kiddos. 

Beautiful evening. 

More Talenti Roman Raspberry, but this time with him, outside. 

More black flies. 

Go inside. 

He plays guitar. 

I go downstairs and write. 

No more tears. 

Sun is setting. 

Day is over. 

Emily Grace is in heaven. 

And I am one more day closer to seeing her again.

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'

A Rose for Emily

Thank you D and those who remember at CCC. These flowers are absolutely beautiful, and I am incredibly blessed by your thoughtfulness.

This morning we went up to Emily's grave. I had picked some Marsh Marigolds as they are out now, and laid them next to her headstone. They looked pretty there, but they will soon wither.

Rachel had picked out a butterfly garden ornament earlier in the week so we set that there too. Last night Joel and the kids made little things out of clay, some of those were given to Emily, too.

The Juneberry trees bloomed this week.

 

Tonight we'll have strawberry shortcake.

And still she will not be here.

There will always be someone missing.

I am happy in spirit, but the flesh is sorrowful and will not be content; the parting grieves me beyond measure.

-Martin Luther

Partly Cloudy

Right now the sun is shining. The clouds are hazy yet still allow the blue sky to emanate through. The garden is slowly being planted as time and chance allow. The yard also is being raked up, two years of pine needles and whatnot into the brush pile.
The kids are in the other room, playing checkers, their new found game. Full of lunch and transitioning to rest time, I take this quiet opportunity to write a quick post.

My mind and emotions are full. Full of uncertainties, drama, anxiety and excitement. But one thing stands ahead. Not necessarily looming in a dark sinister way, but rather like cumulonimbus clouds gathering over a valley. There might be a storm of wind and rain, maybe even some hail. But there might not be a storm. It might just blow over and come to nothing. Either way the sun will shine again. Just like it is now. Just like Jesus is shining in heaven with our daughter Emily Grace. Emily's day of birth and life is this Sunday, June 2. And she will be five years old.

Five.

One of those huge mile markers that every parent looks forward to. So many opportunities at this age. An age where they are learning their independence on a whole new level. An age where unlocking the mystery of reading brings daily excitement. An age of wonderment, change, and imagination.

I wonder where Emily would fit into our homeschool. Would she be excelling at this point and ready for first grade with her sister Rachel? Or would she be beginning to recognize sounds and putting them together and starting Kindergarten with Madelynn? Or maybe she would find schoolwork more on the challenging side and insist instead on watching flowers grow and pointing out different birds at our feeder?

Maybe it's not just me doing the wondering. Maybe Emily is wondering when she will get to see her mommy and daddy again. Maybe she is wondering if her sisters and brothers will fight the good fight of faith and become more than conquerors. Maybe Emily is in the great cloud of witnesses that the Book of Hebrews talks about, standing as a testimony, encouraging us on, on, on to glory. "Don't give up. Press on. Keep praying, keep on doing good, resist the evil one, stand against temptation, keep in step with the Spirit. Christ is in you, Christ lives through you, Christ conquered death, Christ conquered sin. For the joy set before Him He endured the cross. He endured to the end. For joy."

And joy He has. And joy He gives. Emily is full of joy, for she is full of Christ.

What more could I want for my daughter?

And yet, my grief continues. But it is for me. Because I want to be where she is, with her. And so until that glorious day, we celebrate the day of her birth, the nine days of her life with us, and the awful wonderful day of the 11th: Emily's Heaven Day.

Sing and Make Music

Praise the Lord!

How good it is to sing praises to our God;

for he is gracious, and a song of praise is fitting.

He heals the brokenhearted, 

and binds up their wounds.

Joshua trying out Daddy's electric guitar

Ever since Emily died, Joshua has complained of stomach aches. Until last fall. 

The summer of 2012 the Lord did miraculous healing in my own grief and thus in the grief journeys of my children. Ever since then, Joshua has not complained of stomach pain.

Josh has been ITP free for over one year now.

Joshua's blood sugar levels are steadily (and very slowly) improving. (We are giving him Prickly Pear Extract- a natural source of insulin).

Madelynn with Davidic harp (lyre)

Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving; 

make melody to our God on the lyre.

Rachel with harp

Rachel continues to eat gluten, with no side effects. Does she still have Celiac? We don't know, but we do know that she is happy, content, learning, growing and exploring. She is showing no signs of disease.

Hudson tooting on the recorder

Let Israel be glad in its Maker;

let the children of Zion rejoice in their King.

Praise him with trumpet sound;

praise him with strings and pipe!

Let everything that breathes praise the Lord!

(Psalms 147, 149 & 150)

5

Five years.

Can you believe it's been five years and almost two months since our first post on this blog?

Can you believe it's been five years and some weeks since our first ultrasound of Junebug?

Five years ago the phone rang and it was our family practitioner. Our doctor, calling with the results of the ultrasound. Just a routine ultrasound at 20 weeks in-utero. I will always remember her concerned voice saying, "Renee, there's something wrong with the baby's heart." I will always remember leaning up against the wall in the hallway of our trailer house, mind going blank, grasping for Jesus, and holding my breath. Waiting.

Five years ago, we thought maybe Junebug might have spina bifida or a chromosome defect. If she didn't she would have a 90% chance of life.

It's interesting looking back on these blog posts. Remembering where Joel and I were five years ago. Where we were spiritually. Where we were emotionally.

We believed so strongly God would heal our baby. We claimed it, we believed it, we wouldn't allow ourselves to think that Junebug would die. Die? How dare we think such thoughts! Death is from the devil! Surely only Life belongs to God! He is the healer and doesn't it say that if you believe, anything we ask will be given to us?

I remember sitting on the couch with Joel one evening. We had just received the news of Junebug's heart and all that it would entail. We were just at the beginning of the journey of heartache. At the beginning of Emily's story. Josh and Rachel were in bed already and Joel and I were together, praying. Thinking. Processing. I remember looking down at a box on the floor and I heard a voice in my head say, "She's going to die." Thinking it was Satan trying to get at me, I immediately rebuked it and tried to think of life and faith and Jesus; anything good and far from death.
Looking back, I now know that it was our Lord Jesus speaking to me as Joel and I were praying for Junebug. He was preparing me for death. He was preparing me for His plan for our little girl.
But because of my belief that anything death related had to do with the enemy, I had rebuked my loving Savior.

I'm glad Joel and I don't think like that anymore.

Yes, Life belongs to God. But so does death. Christ holds the keys to Hades and Death. Christ conquered death on the cross. Christ didn't stay dead. He is alive. And He calls everyone to die. Die to themselves so that His life will live through them.

He is calling me to die to myself, to my ways, to my old, sinful, human nature.

And I am glad He has power over all, even over Life. Even over Death.

Saturday Morning

"Mommy, winter is a long time," Madelynn tiredly, almost painfully, informs me. Yes my dear, winter is a long time.

I wonder if Daddy seemed to sense that, too, because this Saturday was waited for in anticipation. For this Saturday was when Daddy would help make the kids a new toy. The kids had fun the week before trying to guess what the new toy would be. They knew it would be made out of wood. But all their guesses were what they were familiar with. A new toy car? A doll? It dawned on me sometime this past week, that we only know what we know. We can't think beyond what we don't know. My kids had no idea what Daddy was going to make for them, because they had never seen one before.

It was a thought that I'm still casually pondering about. Sometimes I'm a little scared to apply those kinds of thoughts to real life situations. Like, I have no idea why Emily had to die at nine days old, but God knows. Just as Daddy knew what a fun new toy this was going to be, but the kids had absolutely no clue what it was, what it was called, or what it looked like, and of course how it worked.

Well, this morning it was time. Time for them to unravel the mystery of Daddy's idea. Daddy worked on Hudson's first, and when it was done, the kids laughed with delight. What was the toy? It was a Jacob's Ladder. Here's a pic from Google Images if you don't know what I'm talking about:

The kids are having lots of fun this morning playing with this toy. They've made caterpillars, letters, and yes, even finger snappers out of it.

And as the smell of roadkill venison roast drifts through the house, and the kids settle in for a quiet time, I think, yes, Madelynn, winter is long. But look at all the fun we are having! Summer will come soon. Most years it does anyway...

Confession

If you ask me (Renee) how I am doing, I will probably tell you I am doing well. Usually that's the truth. But sometimes, it's not true.

It is hard to express myself through verbal communication. It always has been. But if you give me a means to communicate through writing, well, then that's a different case. I enjoy journaling, when I have the time and motivation. I enjoy blogging, when I have the inspiration and energy.

I also have a hard time expressing my heart in public. Perhaps I am afraid of rejection. Perhaps I'm afraid of what people think. Maybe I'm afraid I will share too much and turn people off.

Lately I've been looking over the blog posts Joel and I posted four and a half years ago. What happened four and a half years ago? Our daughter Emily was born. Our daughter Emily who lived in a gigantic hospital bed for nine days, underwent open heart surgery, and died.

I've also been thinking about how little I expressed my grief over Emily on this blog. Sure we shared some heart wrenching truths, shared some of the facts, and expressed our utmost gratefulness for the volume of support we received.

But I didn't share much of my struggle and grief, even before Emily was born.

And I'm wondering if you, reader, have been deceived in any way as to the truth of the sorrow myself and my family carries. Yes, we experience joy and happiness and the like, but there is always sorrow.

If you were not aware of the fact that we are still grieving, still feeling the effects of our beautiful daughter's life and death and this is due because I hardly ever blog about it, then please accept my sincere apology for deceiving you.

For we do grieve. We still miss her. We still long for Emily to be here on earth with us. For us to be there in heaven with her. For our family to be together.

And for those who are aware of our grief and who have not forgotten Emily: Thank you. Thank you for not forgetting. For not letting her disappear as though she had never existed. 

Thank you for remembering Emily Grace, our little Junebug.

Yellow Swallowtail

I love Christmas...

Emily's Stocking

Under the tree :)

We did it! My heart is full of joy and peace right now! Thank you Jesus for showing us a way to remember Emily, and bless someone who needs to know You. If you are reading this and are a little confused read this post and then come back here.

After explaining to the kids and praying with them, we ended up choosing a little girl from India. Her birthday is just a day after and a year before Emily's. And, we didn't notice until later, but the little girl's name is very similar to 'angel'. How fitting.

And, sweet sweet Rachel, she was so excited. She was looking forward to being a big sister to another girl and taking care of her and playing with her...Rachel thought we were adopting this sweet child. Oh, how Joel and I yearned that this was true. We tried to explain and I think she understands now. Maybe someday we'll adopt, but God has not opened that door yet. Until then, we'll all have to be content sending letters and stickers and colorings to our angel in India.

Another Milestone

I've been wanting to buy Emily a Christmas gift this year. I haven't actually succeeded doing this before. I've wanted to, but never knew what to get. Then Christmas would come and go... I did manage to find a stocking for her. We had it in the ornament box, this little red, white and green stocking. We hung it up on her would-be first Christmas. And we've hung it up every year since then. One of those years, I found time to embroider her name with gold ribbon and sew a cloth butterfly onto her stocking. This year, instead of either on the tree or off somewhere by itself, it's hanging up between Rachel and Madelynn's stockings. Where it should be. Because she's a part of our family. She's just not here right now.

But what do I give my daughter who has everything?

I've been reading a book. It's a Gospel for Asia book, titled "No Longer a Slumdog".  I've been reminded and touched by this book. It's full of personal stories of children who have lived in the slums of India and Southern Asia. Full of reality, but also hope.

Last night, the Lord led me through a thought process:

What should I get Emily for Christmas? I've been thinking of getting her a windchime or a suncatcher with a butterfly somewhere attached. It would have to be perfect, not too fancy, just simple. It would need to have pink, yellow, purple and maybe some white included. But I haven't found it yet. Because Emily doesn't want a windchime for Christmas. She wants me to do something eternal. To give her a gift that has eternity in it's heart.

I think back to the book I've been reading. These children have nothing. No clothes, no warmth, no hope and no love. And that is when God gave me the idea:  Sponsor one of these lost children, in memory of Emily Grace.

So, hopefully tonight, soon at least, Joel and I and the kids will sit down together and "give" our gift to Emily. And bring eternity to a lost child.

My desire to "buy" something for Emily has "mysteriously" vanished. I am so excited to unwrap our idea of giving our money and love to a child who so desperately needs it.

I know this is what Emily would want. This is what would make her happy.

Because ultimately, giving our resources to another, instead of ourselves, is what Jesus wants and makes Him happy.

Joel's thoughts for today.

I really hate Halloween.

I was thinking about some of the decorations in a neighbor's yard today.  It's kinda cutsy stuff; a goofy Frankenstein sitting in a lawn chair, a pair of plastic hands reaching up from the ground on either side of the sidewalk leading to their door.   Nothing too gory.  But still, all about death.   I'm sure this person, being the age he is, has buried his parents.  Doesn't it bother him to have pretend bodies coming out of the ground in his yard?  
How can we take something as evil and grotesque as dead bodies and make it cutsy?  How can we have a holiday celebrating zombies, ghosts, witches, blood and gore, and say it's all for the kids?   Sure there's princess costumes and cute kitty costumes, but if you take out all the scary stuff its not Halloween anymore.
I was really bothered today by the way Halloween makes light of death.  I couldn't help thinking of the last moments of Emily's life as she lay on the hospital bed covered in blood because they'd been doing chest compressions on her 5 lb body a day after heart surgery.  I remembered how it felt to hold her head as the fluid began to pool behind her skull.  I remembered wrapping her body in a white fuzzy blanket a few days later in the funeral home, her bruises barely disguised by make-up.
And now, when a kid comes to the door dressed as the living dead with fake blood all over his face I'm expected to smile and give him candy?
How can we make light of death?
I think of the thousand upon thousands upon thousands of children who've been mutilated by war. Those today who walk streets of terror and are no stranger to death and gore.  Would they celebrate a holiday of fear?   We are so ignorant in our safe little suburbs of the realities of the world.

I hate Halloween.

I know there are followers of Jesus who can be a part of Halloween, find a way to redeem some of it, use it as a chance to be out in the community with the Light.   It's not on my agenda to bring condemnation on them.   But as for me and my family we will have nothing to do with Halloween.

I was really missing Emily today so I went up to the grave site after work.  I intended to stay in that sorrow because I don't often dwell in it as deeply as I did today.  It's been months since we'd been there.   But after I'd taken down the kids' birdhouses from the shepherd's crook and picked up a few pieces of the shattered pinwheel, I sat down and the sorrow was gone.  I didn't have the energy to be mad at death, or Halloween, anymore.  I just had peace and a underlying joy that my little girl is alive.  I could almost hear her say "Daddy!"  I can't quite picture what she looks like, but I'm sure the moment I see her in heaven I'll know she's mine.  That's happened a few times for Renee and I, where we go up to Maple Hill to grieve and are surprised by Peace and Joy.  His other name is Jesus.   I didn't stay there long, because hey, Emily's not really there anyway and Jesus travels well.  I went down to another cemetery to look for the burial site of a family I wanted to pray for, then got home in time to hear our pastor on the radio in a forum on the marriage amendment.

Oh that this world would know and embrace it's Creator and find him to be Peace and Joy.   Then they'd leave off their twisting of truth and cartoonizing of evil.   

Overcast with a Chance of Showers

I was making our Christmas photo card last week. After Emily's birthday last summer, there was no way I could leave her out. I needed two pictures- not one- on that card. She is our daughter, she is part of our family, so she goes on the card-with the rest of us.

We only have one photo of Emily with her eyes open. It is now my favorite picture of her. It used to be of the ones where she was sleeping and she looked so angelic, peacefully sleeping under drugs of sedation. Those photographs I treasure but I have a new favorite. When I hold this photo it's almost like I'm holding her again. The way her face is angled and she's looking up into my face:

Rachel made a little card, just a simple piece of paper, that said "EMILY". She set it up against her framed copy of Emily's photo. The one you see above. Rachel explained to me why she did that. She did not want people to forget about Emily. She wanted people to remember Emily and never forget. I am so proud of Rachel right now. Such a sweet big sister. She has more guts than I do. I met a new family last Sunday at church. And, even though I keep vowing to myself I won't do this, I did it again. I said "Four children." It's a lie. I don't have four children. We (they and me) only SEE four children so we all assume four. But where's Emily? There's a fifth child in this family of ours?
It's not that I don't forget. Hardly.
Maybe it's the awkwardness. Maybe it's having to explain. Maybe it's the looks of sympathy (which there is nothing wrong with) that I dread.
I'm still trying to figure myself out.
Maybe I'm ashamed of Emily. Maybe that's it. I'm ashamed of having a child who wasn't healthy, who wasn't formed perfectly in my womb. Maybe it's all those Milky Ways I ate while I was pregnant with her.
But I know that's not the reason. Because I have two other children who aren't healthy. And I'm not ashamed of them.

Sometimes I get tired of this road. This road of healing, the dull ache, like an invisible bruise, trying to figure out the aspects of letting God take our child. Trying to figure out how to tell people, strangers who don't and friends who know. How to tell them what's in my heart, on my mind. Most days I have peace, thanks to all the healing that took place last summer. But there's still an ache, stronger some days. Like a healed injury during bad weather.
I guess it's raining right now, in my heart, because the ache is stronger, and I miss her.