The Missing Piece

Abigail's first birthday photoshoot popped up in my Facebook memories today. 

Her sparkling blue eyes and cake covered grin left me gasping for breath while going about my work day. 

Photos: such a priceless gift and one I realize not all parents through the ages have had. I treasure them, but at the same time they are a double-edged sword. 

For our second Christmas without Abigail a dear woman blessed my children with a puzzle consisting of photos of their little sister. My oldest daughter loves puzzles, and as we were putting it together it appeared we may have lost a piece. 

It seemed appropriate. Our lives are now missing a very precious piece. 

As we neared completion my sweet girl and I talked about how much we ached for our "missing piece". She sprawled across the tabletop and attempted to hug this poster size puzzle while expressing her desire to envelop Abigail in a similar manner. Another crack in an already shattered heart. 

We talked of how, like this puzzle, we could never replace what or who was missing. The pain of her absence would always be the missing piece. There would always be an empty space with her name and face on it. 

We attempted to correctly place the final and most challenging pieces of the puzzle.

As we manipulated twenty or so pieces of varying shades of beautiful blue, I told my sorrowing little girl there were beautiful pieces still to be added to her life puzzle as well. Over time the Lord will continue to add beauty alongside the broken, peace with the pain, hope with the hurt, and joy with the sorrow. It's also true she may lose a few more pieces. Death stings and steals that way. 

My husband was the first one to be able to vocalize this prayer for our children in the early days after Abigail's death. Death has changed us all; none of us will ever be the same people we were prior to Abigail's leaving. Yet, we still have three beautiful children with lives to live this side of eternity for however long the Lord grants them. We pray the Lord blesses them with many beautiful pieces and the ability to recognize and receive them as such. 

We long for the day all our pieces will be together again, complete with no empty spaces. We are promised one day that will happen. In the interim, which can seem long and daunting, I pray my other children can expectantly await the beauty of all the surrounding pieces which have yet to find their place. 

Wouldn't you know we later found that missing piece hiding under the table? If only life worked that way. 

One day it will. I cling to that very real assurance.  

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. Hebrews 6:19

Later, as I stood doing dishes, I realized I was happy in that moment. This may seem bizarre to some, but it was a startling revelation. While I've experienced lengthening moments of acceptance, contentment, peace, and even joy, this was the first moment in nearly twenty-three months I would have ascribed the emotion of happiness. (I will save the internal conflict "happiness" can trigger in a grieving mother's heart for a separate blog.)  Suffice to say, "happiness" had become so foreign it took me more than a couple minutes to recognize and name it. Upon doing so my initial reaction was to question my own sanity. 

As I stood there, sleeves wet with rogue dishwater, I felt as though the Lord was asking me if I believed the same truths which I discussed with Avonlea were also true for me. Would I allow Him to build with beautiful pieces around the jagged and painful hole of Abigail's absence? Would I allow happiness to be added if He so chose? Did I believe this was possible for my own life? Did I even want it to be true for my life in the same way I do for Abigail's siblings? 

I've come to accept the reality of more missing pieces; I've come to trust the bland or dirty brown pieces added here and there are part of a bigger piece bringing me one step closer to completion. But will I  expectantly await, recognize, and humbly receive the beauty of other surrounding pieces yet to find their place? 

I'm a work in progress.