Last night my Annie posted a blog that bowled me over. She wrote about a time that is a blur to me, but very clear to her. She wrote about the Christmas of 2005, three months after I lost our baby. She talked about decorating the tree by herself, at the age of 15, and quoted some excerpts from her journal at that time. My mother’s heart hurt so deeply as I read her words and experienced that season through her young but intuitive perspective. Tears streamed down hot cheeks as I wondered where I was. What was I doing?
I don’t remember many details from that season. I remember faces. Beautiful people that shuffled quietly into my darkened room to pray, to encourage. I have a little box that I have saved that contains precious gifts that friends gave to me as they uttered words of love and empathy.
Notes from my husband.
And an ultrasound of my son the last time I saw his heart beating. I remember seeing every little vertebrae and marveling at God’s attention to detail. It is my one photo of him. Something tangible that says he was here with us for awhile. I never got to hold his little body, or feel him kick, but he was here. He was and will forever be a Morgan.
When my dad came to see me, I was still lying in that bed. Not just from depression, but from illness that shook me to the core and nearly took me away. There were tests, and surgeries, and the days blurred from one to the next. He came at Christmas time, and I could see on his face the helplessness a parent feels when a child is hurting. He carried in his hands a colorful little house. “To bring some color to your world”, he said softly. It did. I kept it on all the time.
There was a little front porch and warm lights inside too. It was a home, decorated for the Christmas season. I held it to my chest, wanting to absorb the cheerfulness it possessed. He put it on my dresser so I could see it all the time. My daddy. He brought me all the family and home and color that he could to hold onto. I won’t forget it.
I bring it out every year now, as the darkness recedes from our home, and its colors shine brighter every year. I always think of my dad when I do, and I can still hear his voice, “to bring some color to your world.” It did Dad, and still does.
Annie says she does not regret decorating the tree by herself that year. Chris says God brings beauty through pain. Yes, He does. While I still ache to hold my unborn son, I treasure and savor the moments I have with my family. I hold onto moments like I did that colorful little house, feeling warmed and brightened by them.
This year, we all decorated the tree together, except for my Annie, who is at school. We did text her while we were decorating, sending her photos. She wanted us to name it, but we have yet to do so. She liked Fitzwilliam. Katie suggested Margaret. I don’t know, we will see. Seems like I am gaining more and more clarity every year.
What is coming into focus, is God’s great faithfulness. He never ever changes. For this I am so grateful. I am learning to rest on that stability, although our lives are always changing. He is good, and we can run into Him.
“For great is his love towards us, and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever.” ~ Psalm 117:2
5 Comments
Tears fall down my own cheeks for you, Mary Anne. In your sons photo, you can clearly see that it’s a baby! The sweet head, his belly, his legs… and upon reading your blog, Lamentations 3:22-23 came to mind immediately. “Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” We are not consumed, Mary Anne, though at times it may feel that way. The fog will slowly disapate and become more focused, but I will continue to pray for you adn your healing heart. Thank you for being there (and your family) for me during my time of need. I still remember the kids’ pictures and cards and the beautiful bouquet of flowers you brought me in the hospital. It was my “colorful little house that brought color to my world.” I only hope I can do the same for you in some way – if nothing else but through prayer. I love you!
I love this.
Trust sees beauty even when the picture is out of focus.
I sense the strength rushing into your spirit.
Those out of focus shots are mesmerizing.
The one with the colorful dots is my background now. =]
I think your tree looks like a Claire…short for Clarity. I continue to pray for you and to thank God for you and your family, from the top dawg, Cmo, to the tiny angel-mo, and I think I’ll add “Claire” to the thank yous. All of you seem to help each other to bring God and his Love to each other and everyone around you. You are all truly amazing.
I weep as I write this. It is my first glimpse of my little nephew. I have never been great with words or at opening up to the deepest recesses of my heart, but please know that I love all of you and rejoice at the light and happiness your family gives to me.