Missing my girl

Life is progressing on all around me. I go through the motions and occasionally engage, depending on who and what it is. Tim and I have our 15-year anniversary coming up on the 6th. Mom is still loopy, saying weird things, griping when she's awake, talking in her sleep at night and basically sleeping through her day. 

I'm reading the book, Choosing to SEE, by Mary Beth Chapman and I appreciate her candor and humor, her humanity. There is the section of the book after Maria died and it was as if I was reading my thoughts, feelings, and actions. I'm reading this and realizing that while our experiences are unique, the shock, the feeling out-of-body, and operating on autopilot, somehow making decisions that you never want to make, and consoling those who should be consoling you are, it seems, part of the initiation ritual to the "club" none of us want to be in. I know she's gone. She's gone. And I am still so unbelievably sad that I will never get to hold my baby's hand again or run my fingers through her hair. I know she's alive with Jesus and while that does give me comfort, I selfishly still want her here with me. It reminds me of when she was first born and she had gone home from the hospital with the couple who were initially going to adopt her and the mourning I felt for having given up my baby. The thoughts were tormenting me of, What is she doing now? Is she cold? Is she hungry? I should be holding her, rocking her, changing her diapers, cuddling her, singing to her, walking the floors with her all night if need be. I wanted to be the one to kiss boo-boos and wipe tears, take to doctors, watch her grow and walk and say her first words. I wanted to be the one to watch her graduate high school and then college. I wanted to be the one to help her pick out prom dresses and cry with her over broken hearts. I wanted to be the one. And as my dad and I got her back, those things, those wants never changed. I never forgot about the things I would have missed out on and didn't take it for granted that I was given the opportunity to be that for her and do those things with/for her. And I still want them, but now I won't get that chance because she's alive in heaven and I'm left here to wait anxiously for our reunion.

And there's still work to be done here. There are still kids here who are hurting, who need to be loved and accepted. Who need to know they are enough. Who need to be introduced to the person of Jesus Christ. In honor of Amanda and the gift I was given in being her mom, I am choosing each day to love. I am looking for those youth with the sad eyes, the ones who feel "less than" and I will love them. I will let them know they at least have me in their corner. I don't know what that will look like, but there is so much brokenness. So many kids that are hurting and who knows what ripple effects there might be by being a light and love to "the least of these."  

I miss my baby girl so very much and the ache in my heart will never go away, but until I can hold my own child in my arms again and never have to be separated again, I will do as God has called me to do, and I will take another step in faith as God lights my way.