Yesterday was the anniversary of a miscarriage we endured with our second child. A little baby boy we never got to meet. Somehow it felt different this year. A heavier reminder of how much we are longing for Heaven.
Today started off pretty upbeat. I finally had the motivation to tackle some projects around the house, enjoyed watching Bella prancing around in dress ups, and even took a few time-outs to dance with her when a good song would come on. Mark had to work late, so I was on my own to wrangle our group of AWANA Sparks at church tonight. The game and story portion of the night are held in the gym which doubles as the sanctuary for our church services on Sundays. Suddenly, in the middle of a game of Sharks and Minnows, I realized I was standing in the same place my little girl's casket had been.
It all came rushing back... the soft purple lights, the larger than life picture of her on the screen up above, the overwhelming pain of looking at her tiny body for the last time. It was all I could do to get through the rest of the evening. To paste on a smile, give a few high-fives, and pretend I wasn't dying inside. "Joy is coming in the morning." I keep asking how long. How long till every joyful moment in my day isn't coupled by a moment of feeling something missing.
I feel so inadequate at processing my grief. Like instead of moving forward, I'm churning the same spot over and over. Some days feel like we have made it so far, and some days feel like we are right back at the beginning. Some days I don't even want to feel.
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