“Mommy, do you remember how soft his hair was?”
“Mommy, he is so cold, I need to keep him warm. Can I have another blanket please?”
“He sounds like he is singing”
“I could have held him forever”
“I love him”
“I miss him, Mommy”
“When will I see him again”
This next month will mark four years since we buried our son David. He was our 6th child.
A lot has happened in four years. We dealt with our share of family death, five close members in a sixth month time period. 2013 was awful.
Since then we had another baby. We moved to a different house, after living in the other one for fifteen years.
Time does not stop. Not for a second. Time does not heal all wounds. Time does not healing a grieving broken heart. Neither does having another baby or moving to a new house.
There is no step-by-step program for grieving that you can do that guarantees healing and wholeness. Grief has phases.
It ebbs and flows, like an ocean tide. It changes minute by minute. Day by day. Month by month. Year by year.
We all respond differently to situations, grief being one of them. What works for one may not work for you.
Grief changes you as a person. It changes the way you think, see, feel, and react. I am not the same person I was four years ago.
There are certain triggers that can bring me to my knees. It may be a certain song. that reminds me of David. Or maybe a post on facebook that reminds me of what I was doing four years ago on that day. I allow myself to embrace those moments. These moments make me stronger and more appreciative.
I appreciate life. I am more content. I have learned exactly how precious my children are.
Most of the time life is good. I am blessed because of the perspective I gained.
Watching your child struggle to breathe and take his last breath is a moment I will never forget. However, I do not dwell there. I remember his sweet blue eyes, soft skin, and delicate features. David was the perfect blend of my husband and I. Weighing only five pounds he was the smallest of my babies.
I remember David being passed around that hospital room from family member to friend and back. He only knew love in his short life. I remember the Presence of peace in that room. We were not alone. You are not alone…ever. You are loved my friend, by the one who created you.
How blessed was I to be chosen to be David’s mom? It was an honor to be chosen to carry him.
I miss him. He would be almost four now and certainly best buddies with his big brother Danny. I can imagine all the trouble those two would get into together.
And you know what else? God is good. All the time.