The weather has been warm enough that the daffodils have started to bloom again. As I approach Lizzy’s birthday 13 days from now, I watch the bright yellow trumpets of the daffodils flutter in the breeze and memories, like echoes, begin to dance before me. I can see Lizzy leaning down to smell the odorless…
The day before yesterday, Cecilia, my father, and myself spent the day at NIH’s Eye Institute having our worst fears about Cecilia’s lack of vision confirmed. The NIH physician-scientists were very gentle, very kind, and very thorough. After reading through the records from the long string of doctors Cecilia has been to in her very…
Yesterday was ten months to the day since Lizzy died. This means that for approximately 300 days, I have cried every day. The early days spent themselves in oceans of tears, inexhaustible and draining. Then, like a criminal, I began to hide my tears from those who already felt so helpless to soothe them. Eventually,…
When I walked out of Children’s Hospital the day we turned off Lizzy’s life support machine, I said to my little sister, “I never want to see this place again.” Then Cecilia moved inside of me. I paused, then qualified my statement: “Unless, of course, Cecilia ever needed it.” Two weeks ago, I found myself…
The rain, cold and crawling, drizzles in pit pats against the flagstone. The porch lights shimmer and reflect, casting shadows into the deep recesses of the giant pines. I walk slowly up and down the front path, Cecilia crying fitfully in my arms. Walking outside in the rain is a last resort in an attempt…
Meditation: Jesus comes into the world to die for the world. We are born to suffer and die. This is the problem that walks with me, dogging my every step. Memories of Lizzy dance with tiptoes, glinting like fairy lights around every corner, and yet the problem of human pain and death thuds dully behind…
There is a mama doe and her two fawns that live outside of my sister’s house. I see them almost every day, when driving home from an appointment, when leaving to go on a walk, when taking a piece of mail to the mailbox in the evening, or when stepping outside in the morning sunshine…
“Take this sinking boat and point it homeWe’ve still got timeRaise your hopeful voice, you have a choiceYou’ll make it now Falling slowly, eyes that know meAnd I can’t go backAnd moods that take me and erase meAnd I’m painted blackWell, you have suffered enoughAnd warred with yourselfIt’s time that you won.” – “Falling Slowly”…
The final struggle that I discussed that day with Father Wyble was an issue that has consumed much of my thoughts and time since I lost Lizzy. It is the question of my vocation. For nearly 15 years, I have believed that being a wife and a mother was my vocation. With the birth of…
The day before Cecilia was born, tears streaming down my face, I remember repeating to Father Wyble, “I just need her to come home to me.” After a pause, he responded quietly, “We have to remember that this is not home.” What do you do with that? What do you do with the idea that…