This is not at all howIt is a beautiful, clear winter day. The sun pours in through the windows to her kitchen table, casting its warmth over our conversation. We look at each other and hug, talk about the weather, the kids, our husbands, and eat quesadillas and chocolate together (I offered to do highlights, but we ran out of time).
We thought it was supposed to be
All the while, there's this aching under the surface (No, this is not at all how we thought it was supposed to be). There's the waiting for nature's course. We both know it's there, but there really aren't any words, and for now, at least, we are cried out.
Ruthie-5 is with me, and I am aware that her presence is a constant, visible reminder of another baby that Rachel Anne will never get to hold this side of heaven (And never have I known anything so hard to understand/And never have I questioned more the wisdom of God's plan.)
And yet she lets me come, accepting my feeble attempts to bring comfort. Gracious, even through pain, that's my sister. You can see why I love her so much.
I read through all the comments on her site yesterday and I'm so thankful for each of you. I believe that a huge part of grieving with hope is not having to grieve alone. When you show concern for her, you minister to me, too. Thank you.