Surreal.
That’s the only way to describe this.
After trying so hard not to feel in the beginning, I find myself, some four and a half years later, fighting to express the emotion behind this time.
I am still mourning.
I grieve the happy times.
Finger paintings we would have made together to put up everywhere; the entire world made into a gallery for your squiggles and lines.
Pushing you on the swing set, wind in your hair, giggles mingling with sunlight in the summer air.
Zoo trips to see the animals, watching your awe in seeing them, telling you about their colors and that all are friends from the God who created us.
Time spent curled up in bed, listening to the rain as it refreshes the spring buds.
But I also grieve the less happy times.
Scaring the monsters from under your bed.
Rocking you back to sleep after a scary dream in the wee hours of the morning.
Kissing your cuts from falling on the pavement outside.
Comforting you during shots and scary visits to the doctor, my heart breaking at your terror and the anticipated pain.
More than anything, dear one, I grieve not being able to hold you.
But now I am seeing that we are both being held,
I, here on Earth, and you, in Heaven.
Our Father, the One who loves you more completely than I ever could, is watching over me, slowly bringing me out of my sadness into a place of peace.
Not that I have ever stopped missing you, little one.
But the more I get to know our Father, the more I see how much He loves us,
And the more I understand how much better it is that you are with Him right now.
Yes, in these moments, we are both being held by Him, and in that shared experience...
our hearts are together.
You would be four tomorrow.
Happy birthday, my little angel.
I am sending you up a balloon.
