Goodbyes Always Come Too Soon

Now that the business of the holidays is over and we have, once again, settled into the familiar routine of life, I can write about our Little One.

We had her for 35 days. 35 hectic, crazy, wonderful days.

It's amazing how one little girl can make us a family. Suddenly I was a mom again and John was a dad again. It was beautiful.

Being a foster mom is an experience I wouldn't trade for anything. I absolutely loved being a mom to such a wonderful, beautiful, smart little girl! It was an amazing to blessing to see my husband being a father to her, our parents being her grandparents, our siblings being her aunts and uncles, and our nieces and nephews being her cousins.

And then, in a blink of an eye, she was gone.

I wish she could have stayed. I really would have kept her with us forever. I miss her so much.

Pictures of her fill our home, in places of honor next to the only pictures we have of our Kimber. And they will be the only pictures we have of her.

It hurts to say goodbye to another child. Once again we are left with only pictures and memories of her as a part of our family.

Goodbyes always seem to come too soon. But they have taught me how to truly treasure the memories and moments we made together. I know that she was a part of our family for exactly the amount of time that the Lord planned. We were given not a second more or a second less, as it was with Kimber.

We were beyond blessed to have Kimber for 9 months before he was born in God's arms, and we were, once again, beyond blessed to have had her for 35 days before she moved to a new home. A new home that we pray fills her with love and kindness and the knowledge of an amazing Savior.

Once again we are parents who have given our child back to the Lord's will, and once again we wouldn't trade the experience for anything in the world.

Comments

All is not Calm...

If you look around my house this Christmas season you will definitely see the effects of motherhood here. You'll see school books strewn about all throughout the place. Constant reminders of frustration and fights that feel completely unnecessary to a mom and completely life-changing to a kid. I never wanted to homeschool my teenage daughter. I simply didn't want this kind of hard. But I saw her struggles and her self-esteem start to crack as she fell more and more behind her peers in school. A scar from her years of home-hopping which led to inconsistent schooling. A kid who got overlooked and pushed along anyway. So I pulled her out and we started from the ground up. And she's bright, let me tell you. She's catching up one day at a time, and I get a front row seat to see her shine. I push her more than she wants, and she hates when I do it. But I didn't become her mother because of what she could do for me...I became her mother because I knew what I could do for...

The Tainting of Tattoos

You know, despite my tattoos...and piercings...and partially shaved head...I never considered that my look was very "alternative". At least not until someone said it was. I just thought that I was expressing myself in ways I might not have before. *I* like how I look...and I guess, if I'm being honest, what other people might think just doesn’t really factor into anything I do. But certainly not in the sense that I expect everyone to love everything about it all. My poor mom dislikes tattoos, my brother makes fun of my hair, and lots of people have said "oh...it's not quite my thing". I never expected people to like these things about me the way I like them about me. I am not particularly bothered if it’s not your thing. It doesn't offend me. I'm not asking you to get a tattoo...or a piercing...or to shave your head. *I* did it because *I* wanted to...you just didn't factor into it. That being said...I've never been judged so...interesting...

Four Years a Widow

4 years a widow... 4 years into this journey and I can say, with some certainty, that it is a whole lot easier than it was 4 years ago...3 years ago...2 years ago...even 1 year ago. So, at the very least, it's trending up, eh? I haven't sobbed hysterically over my dead husband in ages, years even. The grief is much more sophisticated now, I get choked up, maybe let a tear or two fall out. Nothing quite so dramatic as the panic attacks I used to have. It's all quite tame and reasonable...you know...until its not...and it steals my breathe by sheer surprise. And a part of me forgets that there was ever a time when it felt normal for John to be dead. Because, 4 years in, it is normal. Normal for John to be dead. Normal to not know how to fix the broken things. Normal to sleep in bed alone. Normal to wish there was just a moment where I didn't have to manage all of these things all by myself. (Because being an independent woman is ridiculously overrated...0/10 - do not re...

From Riches to Rags, and the Glory I Found There

Search This Blog