Thursday, September 20, 2012

Quinn's second birthday

September 9 would have been our sweet baby Quinn's second birthday.  Her special day fell on a Sunday this year, and we had plans with my in-laws for lunch and with a group of friends for supper.  So we took a family day on Saturday.  And instead of going off somewhere and spending money that wasn't there, we chose to stay home and enjoy each other.  Jason and the kids went fishing at the pond.  I had been planning on making pizza for supper, the kids' favorite, but we realized halfway through the day that they wanted hamburgers.  Because I was in no mood to go grocery shopping, I defrosted some miniature meatloaves and we grilled.

Once again, I had this general dread all throughout the day, and a sick, heavy feeling in my stomach.  Last year, I concentrated all my heavy feelings and blamed them on the butterfly cake, but now I know that's what grief does to you.  It can knock the wind right out of you.  It can make you dizzy.  It can leave you standing in the kitchen, paralyzed by decisions about handwashing the special dishes or piling them into the dishwasher because who the heck cares anymore. 

Sunday afternoon, we stopped by her grave site to lay down some fresh flowers.
How can this be so beautiful?  Her life was only six hours.  Six hours!  Yes, two years later, I can still be horrified by what happened.  I'm learning how to talk about her without crying, how to introduce my complete family to those who need to know without needlessly shocking them.  But I can very stubbornly resist allowing my heart to go back to those raw moments when our family was headed in a particular direction, and then we were not.  I don't like to look at pictures too often.  Her sweet things are tucked away in a box, and I don't want to open it.  Even though God in his mercy is healing my heart, and I have peace about the big picture, the anger and pain are very real when I'm missing my daughter.

My second daughter.  Helen's sister.  My girl. 

The other day, I found myself praying out loud that God would provide Helen another sister.  I have no idea why that prayer came out, because we are sooooo done having kids.  I was mourning for Helen's loss all over again.  I sponsored a Ugandan girl through Compassion International, but she's not a sister. 

It's just that when I see my kids, I see a hole where Quinn is supposed to be.  Which is why I cannot get over these pictures.  I do not understand how this happened.  I'm not sure I want to understand, so if you have some technical answer to how the sun's angle played with my camera lens, I don't want to hear it.  I just want to treasure the mystery and miracle of this rainbow.

8 comments:

Deb said...

I don't know what to say except...what a beautiful piece of heartache.

krista h said...

It's amazing how such a small life can impact us so deeply. And I agree...don't explain it away...just treasure the rainbow.

Carrie said...

Love you, friend. Thank you so much for letting out what is in your heart. Makes my heart twist with yours to hear it. Such a combination of strands your life has been woven with this far: sweet and bitter and horrible and good and sad and joyful. I noticed the rainbow in the first picture and was sort of startled and thought - hunh!! And then it's in all of them. Mystery and miracle is right.

Grandma Ruby said...

Love you, Joyce, and I know you can't dismiss the empty hole in your heart. Those rainbows are something to treasure--God is here. Praying for you and desiring His best with that longing for a sister for Helen.

Kris Freed said...

Thanks so much for sharing. Just recently I was thinking about you and wondering how you were doing/what you were feeling. So many of us can understand this at least partially, but your pain is different and your own. And I don't think that you should feel bad about staying away from the memories...you have time. And God grace. And a beautiful rainbow. Love...

Anonymous said...

Love You Joyce! Thanks for being so honest. Praying God's special care for you and your adorable family!
Aunt Dot

Karla K said...

Beautiful. Still so sorry for your family's loss. Thanks for sharing.

Kevin Bontrager said...

What an amazing blessing to have those extremely special pictures...a sign HE cares. Love your family!