Six years and not forgotten

I'm just warning you. This will be a hard one to read. I know, because it's a hard one to write. I've tried over and over and over again, but haven't ever been able to get past the first few words. But I'm determined to get it out. It might explain some things about me....or it might not.

I get an uncomfortable lump in my throat, so big it almost chokes me. My nose starts to burn and my eyes well up with tears. I can't help it. Happens every time I think about it. And I think about it at the oddest times and in the oddest places....the on-ramp from 410 to 281 South, sitting at my desk, minding my own business, in the grocery store. A familiar panic sets in....don't do this....not here....not now. (Even now as I write this, I keep having to get up and walk around, run to the ladies' room and pinch the bridge of my nose until the burning stops but unable to do anything to prevent the big, fat tears from falling to the small square tiles on the floor. You know the kind of tears....so big that they splash.)

Her little face appears. I know it's her because a mother knows the face of her child. And she looks exactly like Wes did at that age. It first happened about six months after I sat there in the doctor's office, on that cold and uncomfortable black plastic chair, the doctor's words echoing in my head while she placed her hand over mine, held her head with her other hand and struggled to hold back her own tears. "This is not a normal pregnancy...."

If I close my eyes I can still see it today. It was January and we were at April's house, in her driveway just outside of the garage. The driveway is long and distinctive, with curves and a turn around, and a cedar tree that's missing a limb because I very gracefully backed my husband's truck into it one day. I don't know why we were there, but I was holding her on my left hip, swinging her around and around in circles, her soft light brown bangs brushing her face in the breeze. Her brown eyes sparkling as she smiled into mine. In my dream, she must have been about 2 years old. Small white sweater buttoned at the top and a thin red ribbon in her hair. It was just a moment. That's all I was given. All I have of her.

I buried my face in the pillow and pleaded with God, my knees tucked underneath me and my hands fashioned into fists, trying desperately to go back to sleep, back to the place where for one brief moment...."Please, Lord, just a few more minutes....just a few more minutes....please!" ..... He said no. But He's allowed me to remember every detail for these six years since.

And I'm grateful.