When there are no words

. . . but it's part of our story.

In loving memory of baby Aaron Samuel

Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it. — L.M. Montgomery

This story isn't fully mine to tell.  It's my daughter's. It's emotionally heartbreaking.  It's a similar grief that has met me before and challenged my faith.  It creeped up again in the dark hours of the night and before sunrise had ripped open the scars upon my heart.  Carrying your own grief is one thing, but now watching two of my daughters both experience this heartbreak is emotionally crippling.  When they were little, I could put a band aid on a wound and give it a kiss and the owie would go away.  Mama can't do that when the wound is so deep and the heart won't stop bleeding and the tears keep flowing and blurred vision is accompanied with red swollen eyes.

Baby Aaron's death dug up feelings I forgot I had experienced with the loss of our little Nathaniel.  They were buried deep in my heart over the years, but as we dug up our baby boy's grave to share with our grandson Aaron, the painful feelings resurfaced.   I tried to prepare myself for the little grave that they would share.  It was gently hand dug by the cemetery, but the memories haunted me.  The ocean of grief was in storm mode and the waves were crashing hard.   We couldn't just evacuate and escape.   As much as I never wanted to forget these feelings, I never wanted to experience them again, or worse, see my own child know this pain.

 .... but here we are with another chapter.

There are no other words.  Grief tells it's own story and in its own timing.
Mourning brings a different kind of rhythm and rest.

someday remember

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