I delved into the family video archives the other day - June 2011 - when Micah was six months old. Around that time he used to kick his legs like crazy in a cycling motion. We would laugh so hard because he would get this total serious, in the zone face and kick and kick and kick like he was really going someplace! And he was a babbler. Quite the little talker, and still is. I wonder if Evie would have been anything like him? I miss not knowing.
Has it become easier? A few weeks ago I received the most wonderful letter in the mail from a cousin. Having lost two babies through miscarriage herself she explained grief like this:
... you never "get over it" you just learn to carry [the grief] more comfortably - kind of like a child. If I held my daughter straight out in front of me, my arms would get tired and I'd have a hard time seeing in front of me. Instead, I know the perfect spot to put her on my hip - it's very comfortable. I'm still holding her and can feel her weight - it's just more comfortable. Maybe you'll feel that way with Evie more and more? You'll always hold that precious little girl ... [the grief] just finds a more permanent spot - a more "comfortable" spot in your life.
And that's precisely how I feel. The grief, the sadness, the sorrow, it's always there, always ready to be called to attention at a moment's notice, often with little or no warning. But I am much more accustomed to it's weight and what it feels like to carry that weight in my heart day in and day out.
I miss my girl. Every day I do. But one day, when Heaven calls me home, I will see her again. And with Jesus gently looking on and smiling the kindest of smiles, I will drop to my knees and Evie will run into my arms.
Never again to depart.