Some grow up before our eyes, others, in our hearts.
Raising your little brothers, Joislen, is such a lovely aspect of motherhood. I only wish you were here to experience all this with us, here for me to watch grow, too. I raised you in another sense of the word. You were raised to eternal peaceful rest and life with our Savior.
When is my heart fullest, Miss Grace? When I’m holding your brothers. Both of them at the same time. And when your cousin, the one who was conceived around the time you were on your way out of the physical realm, climbs up on me, nuzzles his way into the mix, and I get my moment to dream.
I dream of what three on me would feel like. And I miss you till it hurts. I dream of what a little brat you’d be sometimes. How you’d get me and daddy to bend the rules for you, and how you’d just light up my life. To see parts of myself have another chance at life again. Not as in living vicariously through you, but the reality that the undeniable make-up of your being is half of me, facing the beginning, all over again. Instead, those parts of me are literally dead. Because of our faith, death is not the end. But it’s still nothing of what I expected. This turmoil filled portion would’ve never been my guess.
I would have a headache hearing you and D3 fight over everything. I would be in awe seeing how gentle you could be with baby Dex, a little mother in your own right. And yet, you’d also be a ball of mischief, giving a tug on his hair when no one was watching. I would just melt if I ever got to see you sit on your daddy’s lap. Whisper to him. Giggle. Pull his beard. And sleep on his chest, feeling safe. Like the protected and fragile gift you are. Safe in your Daddy’s arms.
Oh, boy. Motherhood is funny, isn’t it? What you’ll get you never know. Sometimes we get a baby to raise. Sometimes we get a dream to chase. But, oh, these glimpses of glory I cannot let go. Till one day we meet. Till I finally get to see your smile. Till I get my hug. Till I hear the voice I already know so well. It is then I’ll stop dreaming. Because that’d mean it has finally come true. I refuse, my flying flower, to ever let go of you.
Photo Source: Aline Henda/Pixabay
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