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Even if Not...

I noticed only recently something about myself. Something awful. Something hard.

I take so many pictures and videos of my kids.

What? That's not awful. Or hard.

So let me add this: I take so many pictures and videos of my kids because I fear I won't have enough when the day comes we have to bury them.

I hate that. Hate it.

I look at their faces as we sing our Happy Birthdays and open presents.

I make cute signs and dress them up for the beginning of the school year.

And then I click click click all the while, wondering, how hard is this going to be when they're gone?

 The thought is never an if. It's a when.

I hate that. Hate it.

I'm not negative, pessimistic, or morbid. I'm typically a joyful optimist.

A joyful optimist who has buried two children.

A paradox.

One that brings me such joy I can hardly contain the love I have for the people in my life. My love goes deeper than I could have ever thought possible...

because my loss has gone deeper than I could have ever imagined.

Most days I'm fine. I feel normal (whatever that may be).

And some days I'm drowning.

Some days I can't breathe as I put my little ones on those busses. As we see another birthday come and go.

Letting go of them each day as they explore the world without me, as they become the people they were made to be, watching them as they turn around and wave goodbye Mom...

it's an act of faith.

I pray over them, for their safety, and for the peace of my heart.

I pray as I remember the lives of two little boys that brought me to my knees as I begged for a miracle.

I pray knowing that I have not been promised a safe and happy life.

So I pull out my camera. I annoy my littles with the click click click.

And I pray to continue to find joy.

Even without these promises.


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