And then this week came. A family that we know lost their little baby. And I've cried and cried. I've cried because I can only imagine the pain they feel. I've cried because I wish I could do something to make it better. I've cried because my husband was crying (he was working in the unit when she passed away). I've cried because I have realized how clueless I've been these past 6 months.
As a young mother I remember an 15-month-old Mr. M. He could talk enough to say words like, "Dada," "Mama," and "More." But not enough to really tell me what he wanted. I remember one day in particular he was really agitated about something. I started giving him animal crackers, my go-to happy thing. "More," he'd cry up at me, his mouth stuffed with cookies. "More." "More." "More!" I was exasperated. Why couldn't he just be happy with what he has? I thought. Always asking for more. And then it hit me. I am that child. To a loving Father in Heaven, I am constantly asking for more. Never really content with what I have. More. More. More.
When Miss A was in her accident, I thought, never again will I take for granted a day with my children. Experiencing a trauma, especially one that involves your child, changes you. For months and months I walked around with this heavy sadness, wondering if something else would happen to one of my kids. But gradually the burden lifted, and, after a year, I remembered but I no longer feared.
And though I hadn't forgotten, I began to fall back into old habits ... wishing for something different when really, I already had/have the best. This week I have been awakened again to the precious and amazing life that I lead as a mother to these four beautiful children. Knowing this family, with their faith and love, and through them, their daughter Avery, I've remembered the fragility of life. It's not about laundry, dirty dishes, squabbles, sleepless nights and school assignments. It's about showing love to one another, about strengthening your faith, it's about creating memories and it's about making the ones you love more important than the minutiae.
And it's not really a bad thing if I look into my child's face and think, "Could this be the last time I see their wide eyes and chubby cheeks look up at me?" Instead of creating fear in my heart, I hope it will create the desire to treat them a little gentler. To speak a little softer. To kiss them more. To cherish life's moments, even the rough ones, that we have together.
6 comments:
amen.
you spea such true words. My heart aches for this family I don't even know. May we all cherish what we have!
Beautiful.
Some good friends of ours lost their baby too, 3 years ago this past month. Josh worked that day too, when she came in...it was hard on all of us. Especially, since they were fellow residents, our babies were the exact same age (MARA 2/22/05, and their Lizzy 3/5/05-4/26/06), and we went to Church together. I really did, I hugged my kids a lot that year and appreciated every moment with them. Even when things are rough now, I remember Lizzy and how precious time we have. How thankful we are for the gospel plan! Steve will heal too...running that code (with other residents and staff too) was so hard for Josh but our friends supported him and the others. They loved Lizzy but also accepted her fate. I pray for your family ad your friends at this rough time...may you all be healed by the beauty of the plan....
They are such a sweet family, and I can only imagine how difficult this is for them. So much of what you said were my feelings exactly. Only being a first time mother all of this mothering thing is new to me and this new-found need of patience is quite hard to swallow. I have learned that when I am tired and overwhelmed and lonely, I am not as patient and loving and kind as I always thought I was. I complain, and cry and mutter things and get frustrated, but indeed, I am grateful for my perfect little man...and it is always good to be reminded of how blessed I really am.
Every time I think of what they are going through my heart literally feels like it has burst open and the pain is almost unbearable. God gives His strongest children the greatest trials. All I can say is they must be incredibly strong.
Julia...I dropped by to catch up (haven't blogged in so long)...and I really needed this post today. While reading, I felt like I was having a good talk with a friend, so thanks.
xoxo
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