Just. Like. That.

I was reminded today, via Facebook's "On this day" feature, where I was March 21, 2012...four years ago. I was sitting on the bleachers at Cook Middle School watching my oldest son play an incredible middle school baseball game. Normally, all my kids would have been there but Aubrey begged her Daddy to spend the evening with him instead. 

While we cheered on the boys, playing baseball, Aubrey spent the afternoon running around, playing with her cousins and being with her family. It was a regular Wednesday, early Spring afternoon/night. She came back happily filthy and tired, scratching mosquito bites (nothing too concerning on a child in the South) and telling funny stories. 

We all had baths, said prayers and went to sleep as always. 

Nothing about life felt different the next few days. My girl laughed and played like always. She went to school and had a great time in her kindergarten parade through the school halls. 

She ate and slept fine. On the surface, everything was right. 

Inside, the storm was brewing. 

She had a fun-filled day of fishing, family and fun on Saturday. 

Late Saturday afternoon, as it frequently did, Aubrey's head started hurting. She said her stomach wasn't feeling quite right and she was very tired. I chalked it up to her playing in the heat all day and possibly something she had eaten. 

She began to vomit later that night. I helped her bathe and wash her hair and let her soak in the tub a little while. Then, I tucked her into bed. 

Although I checked on her frequently through the night, that was the last time I ever really saw my girl. 

The last time her sweet voice said "I love you, Mama, Goodnight". 

The last time her long, perfect arms wrapped tight around my neck. 

The last time her hand ever squeezed mine back.

I will never forget the smell of her sweet, clean, wet head as I held her that night. 

I will never forget the soft, pitiful way she said goodnight. 

I will never be able to put another child to bed at night without holding my breath--just for just a second--and silently praying they wake up okay the next morning. 

I'm telling you this story because I want you all to really understand that life is unpredictable. One minute you're picking out their pajamas for bed and the next they're gone (or grown). While I pray your (and my other) children live long, happy, healthy lives we are not promised another minute with them. Make each one count. 

For the record, I don't believe what happened to Aubrey was anyone's fault. There's no blaming anyone. I don't believe her death was  preventable. It was simply her time to go live in Heaven. 

I do know that YOU can help prevent other illnesses from happening. Spray your yards for mosquitoes. Protect your families and pets against them every way possible. Clean up and keep standing water from sitting around, outside your homes. 

But above all else, LOVE each other well. Whenever the time comes, that LOVE is all you'll care that you had. Money doesn't last or make you truly happy but a lifetime of memories will. 

Live. Laugh. LOVE 

Do it for me and my Aubrey Laine. 

My Greatest Wish

I've said so many times that I'd give anything to have my sweet Aubrey Laine back here with me. 

What a selfish thought. 

Of course I want my girl. I'm her Mama. My biggest, most undeserved gifts in life have been my children. The joy and laughter and LOVE they have brought me is unmeasurable. 

As mothers, we want the very best for our children. We also want to protect them from all harm. We never want them to feel pain. We never want them to be sad. We don't want them to endure heartache. We want to spare them from all things unpleasant. 

Despite all our valiant efforts, we know this just isn't possible. 

Saturday night, March 24, 2012, I put my barely six-year-old daughter to sleep. That next morning, as I opened the door to her bedroom, the world as I knew it stopped spinning. My greatest fear was playing out right before my eyes.

I was helpless.

I couldn't save her. 

I cannot bring her back here. 

Now, I no longer really want to. 

This world is ugly and it gets worse every day. The things children--and people in general--have to endure is unfathomable. There is so much sickness and pain and pure evil. This cannot be the life God made for us. 

It's taken me a very long time to truly realize that what was the worst moment of my life, and all the hardest moments since, was actually the best for my daughter. I know that Jesus was with her every one of her last moments here. I know without a doubt that when she said goodbye to her Mama and this life, she entered her eternal life in Heaven. 

My greatest wishes for Aubrey have come true. She will always be protected. She will never again feel pain. She will never again be sad. Her heart will never again ache. Nothing in her eternal life in Heaven will be the least bit unpleasant. 

One day, when my time on earth is complete, I will get to join her and all those that went before me. Every single ounce of pain I carried for so long will no longer exist. In that moment, it will all have been worth it. What a perfect day that will be. 

Soon and very soon...

Two Little Girls

A year ago it was confirmed. What I thought was my second biggest fear (after losing a child) was really happening. I was scared, but excited to be pregnant again...with twins...that much was known. I had been secretly bargaining with God. I told Him things like "I can handle having another baby...just not two."  

When I found out it was in fact twins, I changed my deal. "God, I can handle twins but please, not girls. My heart can't deal with that."  

I started having that internal gut "girl feeling" and started saying "okay, God. I hear you. I'll do one girl...but not two!"  

I have to believe that God has a great sense of humor. I also think He gets especially tickled when we try to make deals with Him and control our own lives. 

At about 15 weeks, we had an ultrasound at one of those local places that you go for an early gender reveal or 3D images. My family was there and my in-laws were watching via face time. Everyone reacted well and there was much laughter. I was silent. I couldn't rejoice. I couldn't even fake it. 

I was furious. I acted like a child who hadn't gotten her way. I told my close friends the news and was even more mad when they congratulated me. I got home and went in my bathroom and sobbed. I was a wreck. 

It wasn't just because I was dreading the future emotional drama, the endless wardrobe requirements, ballet, everything "girlie" filled with pink and glitter. It wasn't just because I adore everything about raising boys. It was much deeper and I couldn't say it out loud. Not yet. 

When my husband got in bed that night I finally let it all come pouring out. Things I had never been able to say flowed out of me uncontrollably. It was ugly and scary and I'm sure he wasn't prepared but it had to happen. 

I had buried my daughter less than 3 years before that. My heart, for my own protection, had closed itself off to living life with a daughter. 

We have my step-daughter every other weekend and to say it's emotionally difficult for me would be an understatement. I love her but honestly, it's usually at arms length. (I'm sure that sounds awful to anyone who has never lost a child. I'm sorry for those of you that understand this pain first-hand.) I do my very best but I fall very short of being a wonderful step-mother (or wife, mother, friend, etc). 

Nothing can replace a child and in no way does a bereaved parent want anything to even come close. Generally, we try to preserve their memory, their rooms, their belongings. We don't want anything or anyone touching them.

It's so frustrating to know how many people said things that insinuated (and many more have thought, I'm sure) that these girls would replace Aubrey. 

I have a dear friend who lost her baby boy in a tragic accident and later became pregnant. I remember her telling me, when she found out she was having a girl, she was relieved because she "couldn't imagine her new baby wearing her son's hand-me-downs". Those words have played in my head since the moment we started trying to have another baby. 

It was a lengthy, difficult process for me accepting and embracing having two girls. Growing inside of me in a place that last held my sweet Aubrey Laine. My pregnancy became complicated and I started having to physically fight to keep these girls healthy and inside as long as possible. Somewhere in that fight to keep them, I developed an intense love for them I wasn't able to recognize earlier. The last week of pregnancy was one of the hardest times of my life. In the hospital, I fought and prayed and obeyed every rule the doctors gave me. I endured more physical pain and stress than ever before. My body pushed to get them out and the medicine (and my strong will) forced them in. There was also an emotional struggle I was not prepared for. 

After 5-days of constant labor and dual-method deliveries our girls were here and then quickly gone. In that moment of seeing them taken away, I WANTED them. I NEEDED them. They were MY baby girls and I never wanted to be separated from them. Fast forward through one 10-day NICU stay and one 30-day-long stay (including three separate NICUs and cities), our girls were both home with us and our new family had officially started. 

Every day of this new life has been an adventure. There are challenges and milestones and joys and tears. My heart has grown in ways that I cannot explain. I have also had to fight a very strong desire to close the doors and never leave (both physically and emotionally).  

I'm trying to live and raise these girls with joy and LOVE, while planning their futures, yet still mourning the past. I have to do my best to not live in fear of losing them. I have to keep Aubrey's memory alive and teach them all about her. 

It's a process. It has made me depend on God in a way I haven't before. While I know I cannot control my life or bargain with Him, I will let you in on a little secret. He allowed one of my petty requests to come true. I asked Him (if I HAD to have girls) if just one could look like Aubrey....

LOVE💜

Just that far away...

My whole life, I've had the privilege of grandparents living close by. My Mama's parents lived less than a mile down the road. My daddy's parents lived even closer, just at the end of our driveway. We were very close. Most of my favorite memories include the four of them. 

For the longest time, I never understood the pain of losing a grandparent. So many friends lost their grandparents when they were young and it was odd to me. I practically grew up in a nursing home and witnessed death frequently but it seemed very distant. It just wasn't something I could relate to. 

Two of my great-grandparents died when I was a child and my great-grandmother lived until I was in my twenties. I come from a family that is blessed with old age. 

When I lost my Aubrey, nearly four years ago, everything changed. My view on life and my opinion of death became somewhat obscured. 

Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children. But grandparents? Great-grandparents? 

Everything felt out of order.

That next March, I lost my Papa. It was like a king had fallen. He was the leader of our family. For me, it was like everything became even more fragile. 

This past September, my grandmama died. It came from out of nowhere and I just wasn't ready to accept it. I crawled farther into my protective shell of grief and haven't come back out yet. 

This morning, we lost Gonza, my Daddy's Mama. She was the matriarch of our family. Although she was 93 and her passing was expected, it still knocked me off my feet. Knowing something is coming doesn't always make it easier to accept. 

Suddenly, it feels like all the pieces are falling down. In less than three years, I went from having four living grandparents to just one. 

Natural? Yes. 

Easy to grasp? No, not for me. 

Death is a part of living. Grieving someone is a part of loving them. I'm grateful to have had all these years with my Papa, Gonza and Grandmama. 

No matter how long I live or what I go through in life, there will always be this part inside me that is a child who wants her grandparents. A child who can run down her driveway, or just down the lane and be there with them. In my heart, they're only that far away...

We will Rejoice!

"This is the day the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it." 

Psalm 118:24

I went to sleep last night already not wanting to wake up, today. I hoped God would just take me in my sleep so I could escape the enviable pain. I was ready to live in Heaven with my girl. 

When I woke up this morning, I sighed and said aloud, "is it Sunday yet?"

But that didn't last long. 

My sweet baby girls let me know they needed me. They were ready to start their day. It's just Saturday for them. It's a lazy, fun day when they get to see their daddy and brothers. 

The sun is shining and the dogs are barking. Our goats will be here tomorrow and there is a lot happening around the farm. 

I selfishly wanted to wallow in my pain. I wanted to let myself sink deep in the sadness and darkness that lurks deep within me. I wanted to stop fighting this fight of survival. I wanted to not have to put on my brave, happy face and keep functioning. Simply put, I wanted to just die to it all. 

My God knows better than me. He woke me up to a miraculous, undeserved life. He handed me two babies that are proof that He loves me and wants the best for me. He gave me a beautiful, sunny day to keep my spirits lifted. He isn't going to let me die...not yet. He wants me to enjoy this life that He planned out long before I was born. He wants me to see my boys become men and my girls become women. He wants me to teach them about Him and LOVE and their sister. He wants our story to remind parents to cherish each minute with their kids and know that it could be their last. He wants me to LIVE...to LOVE...to rejoice.  

God gave me Aubrey (and of course my other four blessings). I never deserved a single minute with that angel. Nothing qualified me to be the one she called Mama. I am ordinary and unworthy. She was extraordinary and exquisite. She shined like no other. She was like a constant explosion of Gods love. To have been given 6 years, 2 months and 12 days with her was the greatest gift I could ever imagine.  

My heart will never be whole, this side of Heaven. Each day will always be a struggle but I go to sleep each night knowing I am one closer to her, to God and to an eternity in Heaven.

...we will rejoice and be glad...

Happy 10th Birthday, Buggy Girl. 

LOVE💜

She's Always Here

My little girl is gone. She is also very much here, all around me. While I can't actually see her or touch her, I can always feel her spirit. I can see the evidence of everything that is her...the life that she lived...everywhere I am. I can even see parts of her in these little baby girls and my sons. 

I have incredible memories that seem to come to life in stories that we tell. All it takes is the smallest thing to remind us and we all begin to talk and laugh about who she was...Who she will always be to us. 

She lived a life full of happiness and wonder and LOVE like I've never known before. 

We keep her here with us in our conversations. Her name can never die. Her imprint on our hearts is permanent. All of us who knew her and were lucky enough to love her and to be loved by her will always have her inside us. 

I am so honored that God chose me to have her. I wasn't punished by her death, I was blessed by her LIFE. 

I may mourn her death but I will always cherish her life above all else. 

The greatest thing of all is that we know we are promised to spend the rest of eternity with her in Heaven. Our relationship with Jesus guarantees it. So while some days seem almost more than we can bare, here without her (and, no, it will never feel fair),  we know we can survive it. 

The end of our story is already written and it is a happy one. We will all be together again. 

Soon and very soon...

The Broken Pair

Most of my family has made it in for Christmas. They travel from out-of-state every year about this time. It's always pretty wonderful. 

My sister's boys are very close in age to my oldest three kids. Our first two are 7 months apart. Our second two are 7 weeks apart and our third two are less than 3 months apart. 

Those weeks/months between their ages and the many miles between their homes were always the only thing that kept them "apart". It would be months between times they saw each other but when they were reunited, it was like no time had passed at all. Now, they have grown many inches; voices have deepened and there's facial hair involved but that bond always stays the same. 

But one very big thing has changed. 

Aubrey isn't here. 

My youngest nephew and Aub were inseparable. I would love to sit back and watch those two play for hours, in their own little world. It was mesmerizing the way they got along. 

And then she left him. 

Today, that SUV pulls in and grown boys pile out, talking nonstop and hugs are passed around. Then, the four oldest boys take off. But the youngest stays behind. It's just him with the adults. His buddy isn't here to play with. She never will be again. No matter how much fun he finds for himself, or how much two little babies may entertain him, he's left alone. I watch him and sometimes have to hold my breath so I don't cry. Inside, my heart breaks for him. It's such a reflection of the way I feel for myself without my girl. 

To know that this will go on every year is indescribable. To know that every year he gets out of that vehicle is one more my girl won't be  waiting for him. 

To see what __-years-old looks like on him and to have to know she is forever 5-years-old (at Christmas) is just too much. She will never again be in the "cousins Christmas picture". She won't have her own special wrapping paper under the tree. Her stocking will hang, empty and alone on the mantle, while all the others are filled and beside its kid. 

I sigh a huge sigh. 

I wipe these eyes and put on my happy, brave face. 

I face the music. 

While it's a beautiful, joyful song, there is one less sweet voice singing it with us.