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Showing posts from April 21, 2013

With or Without

I can feel each and every beat of my heart, each breath I take. It is as if my heart and my lungs are being held in place with barbed wire, so that each time they move, I am cut. With each deep breath I try to take, I taste the metallicness of blood dripping on rusted wire. Except that's not what is happening at all. It just feels that way.

Firsts are usually celebrated. First time you found out you were pregnant. First time you heard the heartbeat. First time you found out if it was a little boy or a girl. First delivery. First cry. First feeding. First diaper. First time rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking. First time saying mama. First time riding a bike, going to school, putting the ponytail in all by herself. First dance recital, first sleepover.
I find myself now navigating this precariously fragile world of Firsts Without.

First spring day where she isn't going to ride her bike. Instead, the bike is just going to sit there. Waiting. Waiting for a girl who canno…

Tomorrow, Six Months Will Have Passed Without Her

Worn by Tenth Avenue North

I'm tired
I'm worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes to keep on breathing
I've made mistakes
I've let my hope fail

My soul feels crushed by the weight of this world
And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn
I want to know a song can rise from ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
Cause i'm worn

I know I need to lift my eyes up
But I'm too weak
Life just won't let up

And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Oh, Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn
I want to know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
Cause I'm worn

My prayers are wearing thin
I'm worn
Even before the day begins
I'm …

Remind Me Not

I walk around the corner, glance to the right, flip the channel, check my newsfeed, and get stabbed in the heart. My eyes bleed tears that burn my cheeks. Throat clamped shut I cannot breathe, cannot speak, cannot understand how the gangly, awkward teen with the thick purple plastic framed glasses who just wanted to grow up able to walk tall through the day has morphed into a Mother Who Has Lost.

It takes me by surprise each and every time. I feel like a fool. How can my hurt be so acute, so crippling, and yet I find myself checking through the doorway to see if her Sunday School class has let out. I stop myself short before reminding Matt that he should make sure her bike tires are pumped full of air. I foolishly suggest something I know she would love. And each time it hits me: she is not here.

My soul is not mine.

At least, it doesn't feel like mine, doesn't fit like mine. I once took a sweatshirt that wasn't mine home from a college party. I could never wear it becau…