light of my life.

My friend, Michaela, writes beautifully here.

She writes about her daughter, Florence; about her life, her death, her diagnosis, her suffering, her mercy.

Her breathtaking story is one of grief, sorrow, and joy.  

She writes about being a mother to two children; one in Heaven and one still here in her arms.

She writes about being a wife, one who has a hard time cooking for her family and who has walked through the thinnest places with her mate, her love.    

I was drawn to her immediately because she wrote so transparently about it all.  I saw in her what I think (what I hope) others see in me:  raw truth and life altering, remarkable faith.  A journey that is written by the Maker, simply typed by her hands.  

We "met" on instagram, a small little community that is tucked away on the world wide web and somehow feels like home.  In my darkest hours, late at night and lonely, other moms of medically fragile, very sick, terminally ill children were awake and responsive to my need.

It was refreshing.  

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Michaela's words are powerful and poignant.  Much more so than my own at this stage of grief.  I feel them but am unable to articulate them in the way that I see her doing.  I'm so thankful for this gift that we have of words at our fingertips.  

Social media, both a blessing and a curse at times, has been so good for my heart on days when my mind is full of aching and there is nowhere for the feelings to go, not even out of my fingertips.  They're stuck, the words.  So I read them from other mother's who I know feel the same and I am humbled that God has brought them into my life, even in this way.

[these vertical rainbows have been a constant sighting for Chris & I since Mabel died.  A few days ago on the way to school the kids got to see them as well.  We sure feel our girl in moments when we become truly aware of how big our God is.]

Yesterday we decided on a plaque for Mabel's stone. 

I miss her so bad.  

And that's it.  Everything else feels too complicated to write.  There's just nothing else to say.  I'm not avoiding grief, I just don't know where to begin.  It all feels too big.

I miss her feet and her slobber and her voice.  

None of it feels real.  And I just can't believe I'm here without her, or that this is now my life. 

 Looking back at my posts from last January, my writing was different.  I knew the changes were happening and I clearly sensed that Heaven was near.  But even in the fevers, and the screaming, and the seizing, I couldn't ever prepare.  I couldn't ever begin to know what this feels like.  I knew it was coming but I knew nothing at all.  She was so sick but she was my everything.

And now she's just not here.

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I feel her everywhere, so much so that there are days when it feels like I'm still carrying her.  Like she's right in the next room.  But then reality strikes and I can't believe we are in a new year or that it's closer to being a year without her than to the time she died.  It's the most out of body, out of mind, out of control feeling I could ever try to explain. 

So I won't.  

I just miss her.  

And I'm thankful for everyone who remembers to tell me that they do too...

Please read Michaela's blog and join in her journey as well.  Tell her I sent you and send her a smile.

[light of my life; backseat passenger.  Just a few weeks before Heaven.]