Two years today


Our last coffee shop outing...
Our last coffee shop outing…

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My precious Angel Child

Two years ago I lay next to you listening to your laboured breathing. You lay motionless in your bed. Your hands and feet were ice-cold. Your body was burning up with fever. Daddy and I counting the seconds between your breaths. My hand on your little heart and my head next to yours.

I remember whispering how much I love you; that there was nothing to be scared of…I felt your heart beat getting weaker and weaker; your breathing becoming more shallow by the minute.
When your little heart stopped beating my heart broke into a million pieces. As your soul soared mine plummeted into a hell hole of grief and despair.

I knew that it would be hard but nothing in the world could have prepared me for the pain that followed. My heart aches for you and I would give anything to hold you one more time. To hear that mischievous giggle…

We miss you so much. Our family will never be the same again.

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Who Am I?


Wolterstorff also writes:
I have become an alien in the world, shyly touching it as if it’s not mine. I don’t belong any more. When someone leaves home, home becomes mere house.

deeincollingo's avatarMourningAmyMarie

Something is over. In the deepest levels of my existence something is finished, done. My life is divided into before and after.

— Lament for a Son, Nicholas Wolterstorff

I am unable to re-read my early postings because it’s too difficult to revisit that raw pain. Yet, I am almost positive at one time I shared my thoughts on how my husband and I mark our time in the world by before Devastation Day and after Devastation Day. That before time will always remain so sacred to us — a time when our own little world was as it should be.

By now, should I be brushing myself off in my dazed and confused state of mind and jump right back onto the merry-go-round of life? Time is marching on without me. I am frozen in a weird and horrible time zone which only other devastated grievers have visited or…

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