We prayed for a miracle which God granted in heaven. Daily we walk the path of grief, ever leaning on Jesus for our comfort. Until we meet again Millie, always remember you are forever loved and missed!

Friday, October 8, 2021

π–π‡πŽ πˆπ’ 𝐀 π†π‘πˆπ„π•πˆππ† πŒπŽπ“π‡π„π‘?

 



π–π‡πŽ πˆπ’ 𝐀 π†π‘πˆπ„π•πˆππ† πŒπŽπ“π‡π„π‘?
Does she look different from one who is not?
…𝑡𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂 π’‡π’‚π’Šπ’π’• π’”π’‰π’‚π’…π’π’˜ 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 π’π’Šπ’π’ˆπ’†π’“π’” 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 π’†π’šπ’†π’”.
Is her pain visible in the smile she sometimes forces behind the eyes on the verge of tears?
…𝑡𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒆 π’•π’–π’„π’Œπ’” π’Šπ’• π’‚π’˜π’‚π’š 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍 π’˜π’Šπ’•π’‰ π’ƒπ’š 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇.
Can you see the aging her body feels from the trauma of loss?
…π’Žπ’‚π’šπ’ƒπ’† 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂 π’π’Šπ’π’†π’” 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 π’˜π’†π’‚π’“π’š 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 π’ˆπ’π’Šπ’π’• 𝒐𝒇 π’”π’Šπ’π’—π’†π’“ 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 π’‘π’“π’†π’Žπ’‚π’•π’–π’“π’†π’π’š π’”π’•π’“π’†π’‚π’Œπ’” 𝒉𝒆𝒓 π’‰π’‚π’Šπ’“ π’ˆπ’Šπ’—π’†π’” π’Šπ’• π’‚π’˜π’‚π’š.
She’s one who still pictures herself from before the loss and is sometimes caught off guard at the reflection looking back from the mirror.
𝐖𝐑𝐨 𝐒𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐒𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐑𝐞𝐫?
She’s one who ignores a baby shower or birthday invitation one day, because the pain is still too raw.
And the next, celebrates the small milestones, for she knows how precious they are.
She’s one who boxes up a lifetime of mementos in an afternoon to spare others the pain.
Yet years later still can’t dredge up the courage to go through them again.
𝐖𝐑𝐨 𝐒𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐒𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐑𝐞𝐫?
She’s one who holds it together in the big things and falls apart over spilled milk
...𝒐𝒓 π’Šπ’ π’Žπ’š 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 π’π’‚π’–π’π’…π’“π’š.
One who loves deeply those closest to her, but keeps her heart guarded for protection from others.
She’s one who grimaces at the first laughs after loss, but later laughs louder than most.
Who finds joy in the simple things and relishes every day moments.
𝐖𝐑𝐨 𝐒𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐒𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐑𝐞𝐫?
She’s one held hostage by dates on the calendar and unexpected triggers.
...𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 π’…π’‚π’šπ’”, π’ƒπ’Šπ’“π’•π’‰π’…π’‚π’šπ’”, 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 π’…π’‚π’šπ’”, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 π’˜π’Šπ’π’ 𝒃𝒆 π’…π’‚π’šπ’”.
And one who will always pause for sunsets, butterflies, and sweet signs from above.
She’s one who will let go of friends unable to support her.
And one who treasures those who didn’t walk away.
𝐖𝐑𝐨 𝐒𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐒𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐑𝐞𝐫?
She’s one who can experience an array of emotions on any given day.
And one who wishes tears would come when numbness covers her.
She’s one who screams at God one moment and clings to him the next.
A mother who didn’t expect her faith to grow so much from the most important unanswered prayer she has ever spoken.
𝐖𝐑𝐨 𝐒𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐒𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐑𝐞𝐫?
𝑺𝒉𝒆’𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 π’˜π’‰π’ π’˜π’Šπ’π’π’Šπ’π’ˆπ’π’š 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 π’‰π’–π’“π’•π’Šπ’π’ˆ π’Žπ’π’•π’‰π’†π’“π’” π’˜π’Šπ’•π’‰ 𝒂 π’˜π’π’“π’… 𝒐𝒇 π’„π’π’Žπ’‡π’π’“π’•.
𝑢𝒏𝒆 π’˜π’‰π’ π’˜π’Šπ’π’ π’„π’‰π’‚π’Žπ’‘π’Šπ’π’ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 π’Žπ’Šπ’ˆπ’‰π’• 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 π’„π’‰π’Šπ’π’…—π’Šπ’‡ π’π’π’π’š.
𝑾𝒉𝒐 π’˜π’Šπ’π’ π’Œπ’†π’†π’‘ π’”π’†π’“π’—π’Šπ’π’ˆ π’…π’†π’”π’‘π’Šπ’•π’† 𝒕𝒉𝒆 π’‘π’‚π’Šπ’ π’Šπ’• π’ƒπ’“π’Šπ’π’ˆπ’” π’Šπ’π’•π’ π’•π’‰π’†π’Šπ’“ π’π’˜π’ 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕.
𝑺𝒉𝒆’𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 π’˜π’‰π’ π’Œπ’π’π’˜π’” 𝒕𝒉𝒆 π’Šπ’Žπ’‘π’π’“π’•π’‚π’π’„π’† 𝒐𝒇 π’„π’π’Šπ’π’ˆπ’Šπ’π’ˆ 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒓 π’”π’‚π’—π’Šπ’π’“ 𝒂𝒏𝒅 π’”π’‰π’‚π’“π’Šπ’π’ˆ 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 π’˜π’Šπ’•π’‰ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔.
𝐖𝐑𝐨 𝐒𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐒𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐑𝐞𝐫?
She is one as complicated as the grief she carries.
“Do not judge the Grieving Mother.
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works,
she IS but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but a part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”
~ Author Unknown ~
The poem is someone else’s heart… The italicized parts are my thoughts. Together they spell out part of this grief walk.
We missed THE MACK IMPACT GALA last night. Many of our cancer friends and family gathered to raise money to give these kids an experience of JOY during their fight. They honored their children that received experiences and then lost their cancer battle. Millie was one of the children honored. Our sweet little friend Leavyn from The journey of Leavyn Laine - Our Little Braveheart found her friend Millie's picture and posed beside it with a sweet smile. Another reminder that Millie may be gone, but she is not forgotten by those who she touched in this life.
Sweet friends are such a blessing as we stumble to find our way after loss. They become the epitome of 'Love God and Love People" as they minister to our broken hearts. I am so grateful to be a part of something bigger than my sadness.
Blessings sweet friends,
︵‿︵‿ΰ­¨☆ΰ­§‿︵‿︵
☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★
I still believe in Millie’s Miracle
☆｡･:*:･ﾟ Hebrews 11:1 ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
︵‿︵‿ΰ­¨☆ΰ­§‿︵‿︵
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