Dear Tirzah
Dear Tirzah,
Today is Memorial Day, which I'm pretty sure originated as a day to honor fallen soldiers, but today I have been filled with thoughts of you. Funny, during the mundane days of paying bills, packing lunches, and chauffeuring kids to and from school, the pain lessens to only a dull ache. It's during holidays, vacations, and family times that I notice the empty place at our table, the extra seat in the van, the missing place in our family. It's then that the pain rises up, reminding me that our family will forever be incomplete, that there will always be an empty chair at our table, no matter how full.
And yet, I find peace in remembering. I'm thankful for times with your dad, and sometimes close friends, who allow me to talk about you, to tell your story. I can vividly remember your nurses, their names and faces, can walk down that hallway in the corridors of my mind. I can recall the moist warmth of you through your gown and blanket, can fool my brain into feeling the weight of you in my arms, the silkiness of your hair, the softness of your hand in mine, can see that dim, peaceful, agonizing hospital room.
After three years, though, I have stopped avoiding little girls your age. I can drive past the cemetery without my breath catching. And now, memories of you can sometimes make me smile, not just weep. I've always known that you aren't "an angel," but now I also know that you shouldn't "be here," "be three years old," etc. You taught me more about God's sovereignty than all of the books I've read, all the sermons I've listened to, all the discussions I've had. Ever so slowly, He is revealing His purpose for your life, however short.
And through other losses this week, I'm marveling anew at the beauty of the Cross and the hope of heaven. It's an amazing thing, that you, precious girl, who we prayed for and longed for and gave birth to, are now seeing fully what the rest of us are still longing for. You, my love, make heaven that much sweeter, knowing that one day I will not only see Jesus face to face, but also see you.
Until then, the familiar ache of your absence will continued to be felt in our family. Your sisters will continue to talk about you, your picture, blanket and gown will remain in the hutch with your sisters' things, and you'll forever be our fourth daughter. And that, my beloved child, is what I remember today.
Love,
Your Mom
Today is Memorial Day, which I'm pretty sure originated as a day to honor fallen soldiers, but today I have been filled with thoughts of you. Funny, during the mundane days of paying bills, packing lunches, and chauffeuring kids to and from school, the pain lessens to only a dull ache. It's during holidays, vacations, and family times that I notice the empty place at our table, the extra seat in the van, the missing place in our family. It's then that the pain rises up, reminding me that our family will forever be incomplete, that there will always be an empty chair at our table, no matter how full.
And yet, I find peace in remembering. I'm thankful for times with your dad, and sometimes close friends, who allow me to talk about you, to tell your story. I can vividly remember your nurses, their names and faces, can walk down that hallway in the corridors of my mind. I can recall the moist warmth of you through your gown and blanket, can fool my brain into feeling the weight of you in my arms, the silkiness of your hair, the softness of your hand in mine, can see that dim, peaceful, agonizing hospital room.
After three years, though, I have stopped avoiding little girls your age. I can drive past the cemetery without my breath catching. And now, memories of you can sometimes make me smile, not just weep. I've always known that you aren't "an angel," but now I also know that you shouldn't "be here," "be three years old," etc. You taught me more about God's sovereignty than all of the books I've read, all the sermons I've listened to, all the discussions I've had. Ever so slowly, He is revealing His purpose for your life, however short.
And through other losses this week, I'm marveling anew at the beauty of the Cross and the hope of heaven. It's an amazing thing, that you, precious girl, who we prayed for and longed for and gave birth to, are now seeing fully what the rest of us are still longing for. You, my love, make heaven that much sweeter, knowing that one day I will not only see Jesus face to face, but also see you.
Until then, the familiar ache of your absence will continued to be felt in our family. Your sisters will continue to talk about you, your picture, blanket and gown will remain in the hutch with your sisters' things, and you'll forever be our fourth daughter. And that, my beloved child, is what I remember today.
Love,
Your Mom
Labels: Tirzah
posted by The Bakers at 8:24 PM
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