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| Flowers, pinwheels, and four butterflies; one for each month you've been gone. |
I went by your spot today and brought roses.
Daddy bought them for me last weekend and I enjoyed them all week, but I'm heading to Arizona to help family and I wanted to bring them to you before I left.
The sun was just peeking over the mountains, getting ready to cast its rays on your flowers and stone. The crisp air held the chirps and songs of birds. And you.
It's Friday into Saturday. Again.
20 weeks...
How has it been this long? How has it not already been forever?
I stopped on the way home tonight and bought a solar flower for your basket, and two balloons I'll put out when it's closer to your birthday. It's only a month and two days away, and I have no. idea. what. to. do.
I was gutted again tonight. I think my body knows. I do okay (most of the time) until Friday night rolls around. I sat in the car and sobbed and wailed. Oh my son, this pain is so hard.
And yet, I know you're okay, honestly okay, even better than okay. It's just that I miss you so much!
So many Mother's Days have been without at least one or more of my children, but I spoke to them, they called, often we video called. And I knew they'd be back again at some point.
And it. just. hurts.
My peace lily is slowly opening at my office, with another bud also forming. Somehow I thought it would have been quicker, but that's okay. Maybe it's trying to teach me patience, patience with my own grief and pain.
I love you, Aaron. Thank you for being my teacher, for helping me, for opening my eyes.
We talk of ministering angels, and I don't know why we have been so privileged to have our own in our home for so long, and to be allowed to minister to you. But I'm grateful..
“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it breaks.”
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