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.