I am not afraid to allow myself to grieve, and I hope you are not opposed to my sharing of it. It’s been so long since we were “normal,” that the process of re-grieving has gotten so much easier, and has become a quicker cycle. But it does still feel like hitting a brick wall. I still struggle with feelings of guilt for grieving anything at all, but I don’t fight the harder times as much as I used to fight them — I have learned to embrace the tougher parts of life because God has consistently kept His promises to bring His goodness into them. What a happy thing to happen to someone — to be taught how to rejoice in trials (James 1). I can’t completely let go of my human preferences to keep things rosy, but I am also not afraid of the many different things that could be taken from any of us at any given time.

All that to say, when I can’t sleep because I’m walking through West Tower at TCH, switching elevators at floor 3 to get to floor 4 where my sweet one sleeps in NICU4 because the CICU is full, I don’t try and force myself to fall back asleep. I get up, I pray, I write, and I worship. The Lord and I sit together and remember the days that were hard, and I thank Him for the beautiful days He has mixed in. I remember how I felt Him so clearly walking the halls with me, and I remember all the signs He sent, and I wonder which ones I missed. He fills the hard memories with a fondness that only the distance of time can bring, He brings me peace, and I fall asleep until His sunshine (or my sunshine) wakes me up. All four of my babies are still here. He has let us keep them all. That great mercy is not lost on me.

And the next time a wave of grief hits me, He will be ready. He is always ready.

When I’m dead and gone, my bones will still know the path to your door
Down elevators, past white coats, and through the corridors
My bones still will glow from the memory of holding you down
Radioactive memories, whose poison didn’t make a sound
When I’m dead and gone, those moments will be farther underground
My bones will still remember how I etched your body’s warmth in my mind
Or memorized its heaviness for one last time
A mother’s bones do not forget how to find the one she needs
No matter how old they get, the worst of memories they still see