I was lifting weights today–yes, at the gym.
Stick with me here.
Pandora was blasting music into my eardrums as I danced along in my head. Music can take you places, and I need to be taken anywhere but the treadmill to be inspired.
As the melody changed, the tunes transported me back to a mundane moment when you rested in the soft angle of my arms. In an instant, I could feel the heaviness of your infant frame. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath…but the oxygen couldn’t strong-arm the entitled emotions.
Suddenly, right there on that musty steel bench, I missed you.
I knew there was no fighting this time, so I briskly walked back to the locker room and found a changing stall. Locking the door behind me, I crumbled to the floor as the relentless pursuit of grief rushed in. It had found me.
Most conversations about what we do in this life bring your tiny face to the front of my mind as I run through our times together. But there’s not really space to sit in the sorrow because there are other things to do, other places to go and other people to consume what I have to hand out.
But sometimes…sometimes, I let it rage.
I let the sadness sit down. I face the frustrations I felt when you were mine. I wonder if I could have done something else to keep you with me. I hope you still hear my voice in your vault of early moments when I would sing over you and pull you close.
I imagine you now–in the arms of another mother–and I pray you feel loved and safe and known.
Remember when people would say to me, your mama, how hard it must be to love you and let you go? You would look up at me with that dimpled grin and our eyes would fix on each other. There we were–attached. I would dream about your future with us, letting myself get swept away, years from here. My frames are filled with your face and in my fantasy, I imagine you’re still very much my own.
I know we will never be what we were and when the reality of that rests on my chest, the pressure is paralyzing.
I miss you. Sometimes it’s just a peaceful, present sorrow…but today it’s a sudden force that must be free to surge, then recede when it’s ready.
Another baby needs me now. And you’re gone forever.
I’m aching for you today. And the pain is raw and so very real.
I just need you to know that you’re still wanted and loved.
And that suddenly, I missed you.
Kristy and Zach are biological parents to four beautiful kiddos. They have called nineteen others their own since starting their journey as a foster family in the summer of 2012. They say yes to the hard and crazy as they follow Jesus on this journey of surrender and obedience. Kristy loves coffee, good conversation, comfy clothes and Anne of Green Gables. She is assertive and loves change as she learns to thrive in the chaos. Follow Kristy on her personal blog – This Hard Calling.