An Unexpected Journey

Today is Easter. The Lord's tomb is empty and so is our Makiah's room. While most people are watching their little ones hunt Easter eggs or having a Sunday afternoon snooze, I am frantically cleaning house- trying desperately to divert myself. I have taken a bazillion pictures of the twins. We went back to church today, and I poured my energy into holding back the flood of tears as I looked at her empty chair and watched her friends without her. I made my lips mouth the words of the songs when I could manage it. A friend of ours wrote a song for us when Makiah died. It has been almost the only worship song I could stand to hear since the accident. I have wept and yelled and groaned and sobbed and screamed and finally sung this song during the last 6 months. I have treasured the images it evokes. I think today it is time to share it. We were and are devastated, but somehow, we must still sing... worship is the only thing we can still do together as a family.   Tha...

    On Earth                                               In Heaven May 11, 2006                                         Oct. 8. 2010 That's what my baby's headstone says.  It has finally arrived.  It's here in time for her birthday.  Not a gift I ever dreamed of giving her- especially not for her 5th birthday.  She is supposed to order my headstone one day.   Rather than the pool party she wanted, her sisters and I will be visiting her grave.  Maybe we will buy her some sod instead of presents.  Things are all ...

She sat cuddled up in my lap as we prayed.  Her tiny hands pressed mine over her eyes, and she said after me, " Open the eyes of my heart, Lord, so I can see you!"  Off popped our hands, and giggles followed.  Then together mommy and Makiah's hands covered her ears and pressed on soft, blonde curls, and we prayed, "and open the ears of my heart so I can hear you speak to me!"  Tada!  The hands flew off her ears together.  "Mommy, I can't wait to see Jesus with my real eyes!"  she would sometimes exclaim. I sit in the blackness by a tiny, yellow light.  The babies are fed and clean and swaddled tightly again.  Their breathing is even.  I sip my steamy mocha, and the words leap off the page at me.  "Then  the dragon was enraged at the woman and went off to make war against the rest of her offspring- those who obey God's commandments and hold to the testimony of Jesus."  Revelation 12:17 A few days ago a small, hard back ...

If only I could sleep. The cool sheets press against me.  The dark shadows dance on the ceiling.  Soft breathing comes from the bassinets near my bed.  In the dim light Makiah smiles at me from the painting on my wall.   The hands on the clock creep by as minutes become hours.   My mind takes a turn down a slippery, treacherous path.  It wants to tread there.  No!  It hates to go there, but the pull of memories is like quicksand.  In the still of night, I am too tired to fight.  I am sinking.  the accident- the scream- the crunch of metal- shattered glass- spinning- the blood- pulling me out-  her body hanging in the car seat-  people stopping- they won't touch her- horror- disbelief- my baby!- more screaming... Pounding heart.  Oh God!  Oh God!  I moan.  If only I could forget.  If only we had taken the bigger car like we discussed.   If only I had buckled her in on my side like I usual...

It flickered and sputtered and then died out.  I struck a second match and held the orange flame close to the tired, bent wick.  This time it caught and the savory smell of berries filled the room.  Outside the rain was pelting the house.  Lighting a candle felt cozy...  peaceful... happy... something I haven't done since October 8th.    Re-entry.  Like a space ship approaching earth's atmosphere, I feel I am approaching re-entry into life.  It is looming before me, and my course is propelling me towards the painful process.  It is impossible to get back to life on earth without blazing through the atmosphere.  Dangerous.  Fiery.  Unavoidable.  Unless I want to float adrift in a sea of darkness and separated from those I love forever.  My life has had no normalcy, no routines, since the wreck and months of bed rest.  I haven't had a schedule or worked or planned meals or even gone to the grocery store....

Life is about moments.  Moments to hold tiny babies close.  Moments to rub their silky cheeks on mine.  Moments to kiss their soft, downy heads.  Moments to comfort their cries.  Sometimes I wonder if I will get to keep them...  the babies, I mean.  Will I get to take them to kindergarten?  Will we see them dance in a recital?  Will we get to watch them grow up?   I wrote about moments in the journal of letters I kept for Makiah since she was born... March 2007 "My dear, sweet Makiah,     You are 10 months old now and such a joy!  My heart is full of things to write you.  Your personality is absolutely delightful!  You love to laugh- being surprised and chased by Daddy are your favorites.  You absolutely glow when we sing "If Your Happy & You Know It."  You clap and stomp your feet and do the wiggles.  You love to drop things and say "uh oh" with such seriousness.  You are saying ...

 It came on my birthday.  A posthumous gift of sorts.  I gingerly touched the smooth brown surfaces and ran my finger across the pointy tops.  Makiah's little fingers had gingerly collected this bag of tiny brown acorns.  She loved "tiny fings."  The last time I picked her up from a play date with her best buddies, she cried as we drove away from their house.  "I forgot my acorns, Mommy!"  I assured her that we would get them the next time we came over.  There was no next time.  My friend sent them home to me last week in a tiny plastic bag.  I wanted her acorns.  I had promised her we would get them. The girls are here now, and we are so thankful for their health and safe delivery.  We are also thankful for the many, many prayers offered on their behalf.  As wonderful as it is to hear crying and have tiny, soft heads nuzzle into our necks and shoulders again, I have made an unexpected discovery.  My grief is u...