On a day that we as Christians celebrate life, the mother in me is trying hard to not be furious at God for taking my baby. Sometimes it comforts me that God knows what it's like to lose a son, and because of that, He will get me through this. But in my head I'm thinking, Jesus was only buried for 3 days before God sat him at His right side. I've endured 4 months, with no end in sight.
As my two youngest boys run around the house hunting for eggs and eating their candy, I am left to only imagine the look of excitement on Grey's face, now at nearly 16 months, running through the house, being given hints by his big brothers, finding eggs.
4 months ago today . . . it seems like years. The sounds, the smells, the emotions, they all come pouring into my body and out through my tears. What I wouldn't give to have him back with me.
Thanks to all of you who have made it a point to reach out to me today, realizing that even though it is Easter, it is also the 12th. Thanks Mom, for the Easter basket and knowing that chocolate fixes almost everything. Thanks Erin, for reminding me that an Easter egg hunt in Heaven has got to be incredible. And thanks to Pastor Mark for telling me on that horrible day that it was OK for me to be mad at God, and for telling me that in order to love hard I had to be willing to hurt hard. Those words ring in my head every single day. Oh, how I hurt.