There's a degree of pressure surrounding your first Mother's Day after the death of your child, albeit possibly self-imposed. I'll be honest with you. I had to be VERY intentional to stay busy and focus on the blessing of the three children in my home and not on the loss of the one in Heaven. I wanted to bathe in my sadness and pity, yet I couldn't bear to do so. Gabe, Malachi, and Avonlea need to know their presence in my life means as much to me as Abigail's absence.
What I have found swirling in my mind these past few days in an intermingling: the intermingling of Hope and Sorrow; of Joy and Grief. They are as two rivers meeting, waters blending- never to be separated again. They will always travel together henceforth, never one without the other. Whether over roaring falls or the soft babbling of a brook: they are one. Whether crashing into boulders creating treacherous rapids or slowly meandering on a bright summer day, perhaps so gently even a reflection can be caught upon the surface: they are one. Intertwined- never to be as they once were before they met.
It took a while before they each were content to allow the other to be just as fully present. The point at which they collided became swirling confusion as each tried to push the other aside. Neither wanting or willing to be left behind, yet neither wanting or willing to travel together. In the end they cannot undo what has been done. They can't go back. They must move forward together. To refuse to do so would create a stagnant building pressure and eventual destruction. Instead those two rivers eventually blend and find their rhythm, wishing at times they'd never met, but also realizing they are stronger because they did.
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