Happy Endings

Sweet Morris,

In a letter I wrote you not long after you passed away, I told you about a country song I could relate to that opens with the line, "Sunny days seem to hurt the most..."  I don't know if it's because the days of deep, dark grief have passed or not, but I now find myself saddest not when the skies are full of sunshine, but rather on the days when it seems as if the Heaven's are weeping with me over all that we lost.

I've struggled with my anxiety lately.  There are times when it seems as if our happy ending is just too good to be true, and I feel as though I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I think back to a time not long ago when it seemed Ryan and I were on top of the world, only for us to have the rug pulled out from under us one day. I wonder if my heart can take something like that again.

Last week, I had a situation that I was particularly anxious over.  That evening, as I anxiously prayed that God would give me a peace about the situation, the sun came out just as it stopped raining.  I immediately began looking for a physical sign in the sky to let me know that God had heard my prayers, but my rainbow never appeared.  A few days later, I was anxious about another situation and prayed a similar prayer.  Almost instantly, Morris' song (How Great is Our God) came on the radio, and I felt peace.

These two experiences have left me wondering...why does God let us struggle with things sometimes?  Like He did for me in the second situation, He could so easily give us the peace we are asking for, calm our minds and hearts, and help us make the decisions with which we are wrestling. For some reason though, He sometimes appears silent in the midst of our anxiety and fear.

As I've thought about my situations last week, I've realized that in the second situation where I felt the immediate peace, I laid the situation in God's lap and left it there.  I trusted as I prayed that God would hear my prayers.  In the first situation, the truth is that even as I prayed for peace, I held on tight to the situation. I didn't trust that God had a plan, or more specifically, that he had the "right" plan.  My faith was much weaker because I was intently focused on my fear. I wonder if maybe God was just waiting on me to let go of the situation and fully trust Him before he revealed His plan to me.

I know that anxiety will always be a struggle for me, but I hope that I can learn to let go of the fear more often and  have faith in happy endings.  If Disney has taught me anything, it's that happy endings always come after a lot of ups and downs. More importantly, a quote I came across reminded me of this little nugget of truth, "God only makes happy endings. If it's not happy, it's not the end."

Love,

Mommy

Missing You

Morris,

I woke up this morning at 5:30 AM.  The rest of the house was quiet.  I could always use more sleep, but it isn't often these days that I have a few minutes to myself, so I decided to get up and take advantage of everyone else snoozing.

I've been feeling pretty emotional about you lately.  I was telling Daddy last night that this is probably the most emotional that I've felt since those early months after we lost you.  I keep seeing posts about 2nd birthdays for babies born in February and March, and all I can think is that we should be getting to celebrate that milestone with you. Getting through your first birthday was hard, but I think being pregnant with the twins and everything that came along with that masked my sadness a bit.

Your brother and sister are getting so big!  They are sitting up on their own, and I'm pretty sure they'll be on the move soon. They love reading, and every once in a while we'll turn on the Disney channel for the colors and music. Last weekend we did this, and Winnie the Pooh was on.  It was a new version of the show that I hadn't seen, and would you believe that an elephant seems to have joined the Pooh crew?  I smiled and left the episode on, even though the show is a bit advanced for the twins.  My favorite thing is finding an elephant where I least expect to see one. God always seems to know when I could use a Morris moment.

We wrapped up Operation Over the Rainbow a few weeks ago.  We ended up with 95 Journey Bags to donate to children in Foster Care, and a $500 donation from McDonough Toyota Staunton that is being used to fill more bags.  We also learned that another local organization is going to be sponsoring a collection for Operation Over the Rainbow this summer.  We collected fewer bags than we did last year, but that was to be expected this year as I just didn't have as much time to put into planning and organizing.  Still, one hundred kids will feel loved this year because of you.  I can't help but feel proud of that fact.

I've known since the moment I found out you were gone that our life will forever have an aspect of grieving to it.  I've thought about it; I've told others it; I've written about it.  Still, I think the last few weeks have taken me by surprise in that I've come to realize that there will be moments when it feels like the grief hasn't diminished at all.  When the thought of you and what we lost feels as heavy as the first day without you did. Time has changed some things, like the frequency and length of these moments, but they still exist. My heart goes out to people who have been touched by such deep grief so early in their lives.  To be faced with a lifetime of grieving at an even younger age than I have been strikes me as so tragic.

Well, my moments of silence have run out.  Babies are awake and ready to play.  But I hope you know that I miss you Morris.  I will miss you until the day we are reunited.

Love,

Mommy