grief is not a neat little package

Sometimes my breath catches. . .

I see his little face in picture frames. . . he was really mine? I really held him? 

I hate the October 15 Cleanup sign at his little resting place.  I didn't want to take his little fire truck away, the flowers, the kids bubbles, the pinwheel that moved so his grave wasn't so quiet, the glowing little lights that lit up the night there. . . 

So much more joy, lately.  I'm thankful.

So much less oppressing grief.

So much more hope.

But that yucky reality of Gabe gone is there.

I've been subconsciously thinking that at some point maybe maybe maybe I could wrap up the grief and heartache and pack it away

and finish the last thank you

and put his huge green bin of stuff in the attic instead of moving it around our bedroom

and write the perfect lines for his stone. . .

. . . and then the hope that has been seeping into my soul will just burst open wide and we will be miraculously healed and then God can give us some other little chubby person to love and we will be happy again.

If only it were that simple.


It's not a neat little package to put away, though.

It's part of us.

Even if I can be happy and block it out for a moment, an hour, an evening, I have to answer the weeping of a three year old. . . I'm crying cuz Gabe can't breathe.  How do you answer that? 

I cringe when JD tells my friend  you can lay your baby down upstairs if she's tired. . . we won't let her die.

And today, I wish God would give us a baby and that it would just be His plan to let it stay with us and not go to Heaven.

Jacob, mulling over the fact that Gabe is free to do whatever he wants in Heaven. . .can he grow whiskers, then?

Cambria, understanding why I don't want winter to come . . . Mommy, don't cry.  Gabe won't be cold, he's in Heaven.

I get knocked to my knees by things I can't change.

I cry out for wisdom, for strength, for answers to my little people's aching questions.

I am realizing that I can't compartmentalize it all.  {wise words from Deeann - Walmart rug aisle 1.5 hr chat therapy session} I can't put Gabe away and move on to the next house project or the next Bible study or the next season or holiday or the next ministry opportunity or even baby #4. 

Gabe's whole story. . . his birth, his life, his death. . . it's a part of who we are. It's woven in and out of life as we know it.  We have to choose life through the pain. . . .  not stuff the pain away and then pretend to live.

Gabe has changed how I look at life.

Gabe has changed how I look at death.

Gabe has changed how I look at our kids, our jobs, our house, our focus. . .

what I do

what I hear

what I say

what I laugh at

what I hurt for

is all filtered through the lens of the last year.

God has been doing so much in our hearts.

I keep trying to write it all but the awesomeness of what He is doing just defies words.

He is still good.

He is still good to us.

He is still a loving Father.

He is a loving Father taking care of my littlest man.

I think that's okay. . . .