Catching fish

 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏

Each day of our grief is walked out with the acknowledgement that we must continue to live life even after our girl has ran to heaven before us. As adults we hurt, we ache, we cry, but we somewhat understand how this goes. We can tell ourselves truth that our minds can embrace, even if our hearts scream against it. These truths can sound a lot like:

• “She’s no longer in pain.”

• “We are grateful for the time we had her in our lives.”

• “We know she is in heaven.”

Each one of those are true. Each one is a comfort, yet with each one our hearts can still say… “But God, I wanted you to heal her here. Three years was not long enough. We are so glad she is with you, but we sure wish she were here with us.”

These are all the daily thoughts and conversations I have with the Lord. I also have daily conversations with our other children. I try not to share to much of their grief struggle unless I ask them first. Each trial is so personal, every feeling is different. We all need time to process it in our own way. For me that is journaling and sharing my heart but for others in my life it is a silent battle. David has given me permission to share his struggles with losing Millie, but overall, the only child I share about is Little Man. I do this for two reasons. 1) He probably will not remember much of this and I want him to be able to look back on his journey. I want him to always remember how he loved and missed his sister. 2) He gives the perfect look into the innocent way a child struggles with grief. His thoughts, actions, and pure heart are so freely shared. He does not feel the need to hide his feelings like some of the other children. He will tell you plainly when he hurts.

Our lunch today was filled with some hard conversations. I was cooking when Little Man brought up something dangerous (I cannot remember what?) but I responded, “You could die from that. I don’t want any of my children to die.” He calmly reminds me (as if I ever forget!), “One of your children already died mom.” My reply was, “Yes and I don’t want any of the other ones too.” He was thoughtful for a few minutes then in a matter-of-fact tone said, “I wish Millie had died at the hospital.” When I asked why, he said he just did not like having to watch it. I explained if she had died in the hospital, he would have missed the last three weeks of her life with tea parties, fishing trips, and cuddling together. He said, “No I would not have wanted to miss that. I wish she had gone back after that stuff.” Again, I tried to explain in language a 7-year-old understands that to go back at the point of death is traumatic. Ambulances, paramedics (who cannot save you but have to try), and lots of chaos was not how we wanted Millie’s last moments to be. We wanted her passing to be peaceful and it was from an adult’s perspective, but from a child’s perspective it was scary.

This conversation got me thinking about decisions we are forced to make, especially during the end of life. Often they are not going to be the ‘right’ ones no matter what we choose. We could do what was best for Millie, us, or the other children, but it probably would not be the right decision for us all simultaneously. We allowed two children to be gone from the home during her death, per their request. One regrets that we did not require them to stay home. The other is glad they did not have to sit and wait for that dreaded moment. Another older ‘child’ told me they did not want to be here when it happened, but they were and sat through her last moments with her. We did not ask Little Man and SJ if they wanted to be here, we never considered them going away. For David and me we were so grateful we were together when she passed. I cannot imagine missing that moment. We were with her the moment she entered this world and the moment she entered heaven—just as I think all parents would want to be.

Lest you think we stay sitting in the sadness… no, we do not. Just as a child can easily turn off a tantrum, they can also easily redirect their thoughts to other things. He next told me he knew how much Millie loved him and how much she loved when he played ‘wolfie’. His version of acting like a dog. She would call him, pet him, and play with him like her pet dog. He believes she really though he was a dog…kids are funny! He smiles big at those memories and all traces of sadness leave for now. He is so grateful that he had a baby sister named Millie and he will talk about her forever I am sure!

Like him, we are so grateful for all the ways Millie touched and changed our family… She was a blessing packed up in a little fireball. Just thinking of her makes my heart and face smile!

Blessings sweet friends…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I still believe in Millie’s Miracle

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ Hebrews 11:1 ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

︵‿︵‿୨☆୧‿︵‿︵

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