The other day I came across this picture I hadn’t seen before. It is simply, beautiful. My heart melted to see such a perfect freeze-frame of her little button nose and her sweet, tiny lips. Truly a gift to this mommy’s heart.
This picture though, it released a wave of hurt so deep I sat in my closet and cried; an ugly, red-faced, runny-nosed, swollen-eyed, hiccupy cry. I didn’t cry because she’s precious, I cried because I. Am. So. Tired. Of. Missing. Her.
Her 3rd birthday this March, I really felt like I had turned a corner. I finally felt joy, genuine joy about where she is, and really came to a place of being happy looking forward to being with her again someday. I felt like I could see Heavenward, past the deep wounds that had been left. I was able to smile for all the good memories.
One step forward, three steps back. I don’t know why; I think the death of my brother brought me back to those days, the horror days of losing her and walking empty-carseat home, folding vacant blankets, packing up hopes and dreams.
I am tired of being a bereaved mother, tired of being told how I should and shouldn’t grieve, tired of all the things that remind me that she’s gone. I am worn by the tears always hovering beneath the surface, by the questions, and the guilt, and the sheer agony of moving on without her.
I can barely stand right now, and I’m wondering where You are, wondering when You will make beauty from these ashes. . I know you can hear my heart. It’s raw, it’s exposed, and it’s waiting for Your healing touch.
This broken bone, it’s never going to heal right. Please help me learn to dance with this limp.
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