𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙?

Today that feeling rose up in my chest. That ache that has been a little gentler lately became almost suffocating. Most days I embrace that recognition that this is now my life. That this is really the way it is—

but today...

Today I found an old phone that had videos I haven’t seen before. As I listened for a moment, my heart screamed,

“𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙?!?”

The video shows my baby full of life. ‘Healthy’ and happy, sassy and funny, so much a part of our family. That video made me believe, if only for a breath, that life was okay. That my grief is just a bad dream...a night terror. The next breath brought reality home. She is gone. She will never come back. Praise God I know I WILL go to her in Eternity. I cling to that assurance.

Grief does such funny things. It makes so many things become forgotten. It makes you lose track of time, events, and memories. You can’t recall conversations, important information, or perform necessary tasks. You live in a fog—then one day that fog lifts every so slightly. You begin to see a glimpse of who you once were. You wonder if that person will ever come back? How could the old you return? A very part of your heart is missing and even if you return, you will be different. You will...I promise! Honestly, I am not sure I even want to be the lady I was ‘before’. Instead, I now want to walk where God is calling me to go.

There was another video that came up today and I watched it, drawn to it —yet worried I shouldn’t for fear of drowning. I watched her funeral video, at least most of it. As the beginning song played I was confused. “What was that song playing?” “Who chose it?” I had to listen to almost the whole song to realize it was me. I had no memory choosing it, nor hearing it play at her funeral. So much of the service is still a blur in my mind. There are people in the video that I have no recollection of who they are. There are so many grief blurs in that day. I do clearly remember the last few moments at the cemetery where total exhaustion took over and we longed to go home even though we knew would be leaving Millie’s body behind.

Tonight as I was passing by the cemetery... my car turned in. The policeman was locking the gate as they do every night. He kindly waved me in and told me he would wait for me. My eyes filled up with tears as I thanked him. I even said, “I have the assurance that she is not here, but I need to go to her grave for a few moments anyway”. I cried as I drove to the far SW corner, almost to the fence line. I told the Lord audibly just how hard this is...how hard to understand losing your baby. I told him how very missed she is! How my heart longs for her.

He filled my mind and my heart with the simple tune “He’s got the whole world in his hands”. One verse says, “He has the little bitty babies in his hand”. My assurance that she is not alone, she’s in God’s hands. “He’s got you and me brother in his hands”. I am not alone either. I told him that without him I couldn’t continue carrying this grief. I thanked him for being with me every step of this walk. Then I bravely climbed out of my van, dusted her headstone off, straightened her butterflies, and admired the beautiful soft colors that were painted in the evening sky. My tears dried, my soul communed with the Lord. He once again met me where I stood in my despair and guided my heart back to peace.

I am immensely grateful for the little moment of forgetfulness that lets me see my perfect girl as she was. I am so thankful for each picture and video. I know my heart can’t dive in too often to the videos—her sweet voice will be my undoing, but for those days I do, they bring a smile to my heart.

Blessings sweet friends…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I still believe in Millie’s Miracle

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ Hebrews 11:1 ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

︵‿︵‿୨☆୧‿︵‿︵

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