It's been a pretty good week here in our part of the world, considering. On Wednesday I went to a prayer meeting and met with Jesus in a way I haven't before and it stuck with me for the rest of the week. On Friday I went to an Above Rubies Retreat with my friend, Holly. We had a long drive together and a good weekend as we learned alot and had a time of rest as well.
But, still, there was something niggling at the back of my mind and I wondered, not for the first time why it bothers me so much when people who are not bereaved parents talk to me about healing or recovering. Yet, when a bereaved parent talks about healing or recovering I know what they're saying, and it's just fine with me.
And recently, I think I've figured it out.
As far as I can tell, the words 'recovery' and 'healing' in the mouth of a bereaved parent is a different word than in the mouths of people with all their living children. It's simply a different language. And unless you've travelled to the country of Devastation then you cannot ever speak the language...and, well, trust me, you do not want to travel to that country.
And why is this worth a blog post you wonder...
Well, partly because I am recovering. I am having more bearable moments than terrible, awful ones. I am able to grocery shop for thanksgiving dinner (and even know of things I am thankful for). I am able to chat to people that I meet, and they would never know that I am missing my daughter with every heartbeat, as I talk turkey and sweet potatoes with them.
But when the conversation turns to how big other people's kids have gotten and how hard it is to keep track of all the kids, well, then I have to go. And, sorry, but neither is a Happy Thanksgiving on my plate, or my lips.
And as a little side dish of sad cuteness in our home-I had a friend over with her baby son for lunch.
Theodore said to her 'we have two babies in our family-one in my mommy's belly and one in Heaven'.
Thankfully this friend already knew about both Hope and Eva.