Blindsided...and rambling

Sometimes the emotions hit me at the oddest moments...

They make sense in moments like yesterday when I took down my youngest son's crib and put it away, thinking the whole time that I should still be using the crib, not making room for it under his "big boy bed". When I look at a pile of no longer needed baby things and feel heartsick that I have to figure out where to donate them...

But just now, I logged on to write about the transition and found Nicky's comment unmoderated so never published, on my last post. And I cried.

I cried mostly because I don't do that. I don't imagine what would have been very often because it hurts just so much. And honestly, I am stuck with the imagining of what we would have done to announce her healing. That one I see so clearly. That one I see almost as a memory...but it isn't a memory. It's a dream.

Someone gave me an outfit for her shortly after the diagnosis...Embroidered on the front of a cute white onesie in pink letters "I am a miracle". I searched for the perfect pink pants to match in just the right shade...eventually Nicky found them. I packed them in my hospital bag, but at the bottom. I imagined putting my perfectly formed baby in that outfit and just having that picture flashed on the overhead at church Sunday morning. I can still hear the collective gasp and applause that would have gone out. I can still feel the warmth radiating out of all those euphoric faces. To be in the church where great and miraculous healings occur. I can hear the worship songs...

I imagine my pastor. A strong and mighty man of God beaming with reverence at the power of Mighty God, instead of forlorn and broken by the disappointment of a healing denied.

And these images haunt me sometimes.

I told my husband, driving down the 405 freeway towards the delivery that I believed 100% that Eden would be healed. I was giddy with the excitement of it.

I broke when he looked at me in the OR and shook his head, tears in his eyes. I just broke in that moment. I asked God to heal her still, but I knew we'd received His answer, and it was no.

I knew I had to choose to keep living in that brief second. Not physically, but spiritually. I knew I had to ask myself if I could still trust and hope and believe in all of who God was in that second. Upon choosing him he held together that which had broken in me... My heart, my spirit, and in someways... my faith. He began to repair it even then, but what was still broken He held.

I don't talk much about the really ugly parts because I want more than anything to allow God to be glorified in my life. In this experience. There are ugly moments though...and here are a lot of them.

I think in someways the hurt is harder now. It is duller and not as sharp and stabbing, but it is exhausting. To know that I will always grieve...everyday...somedays seems like too much. To know that certain worship songs will continue to stick in my throat for weeks, and months, and years makes me want to pull the covers over my head and just stay there.

I picture her in heaven a lot. Dancing in the flowers. Jesus giggling and smiling at her. And I am so glad she is with Him and I am so happy for her...I just wish we weren't seperated.