Kisses

I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye, that was the trouble. I wanted to kiss you goodnight. And there’s a lot of difference.

-Ernest Hemingway

Sweetest Son,

I miss you. I miss writing to you. It’s so much harder to blog now that work has started back-but I feel it building in my heart, the pressure that I need to be with you and spend time with you or I might just burst.

I feel like I have so much in my heart, all jumbled up and not poetic at all, so I’ll just try to sort it all out here.

First of all, today is the birthday of two of my favorite people-your Papa and Kate Lindsley. You will meet your Papa one day, but until then you can celebrate Kate Lindsley’s birthday in heaven. This makes my heart hurt, thinking of birthday celebrations in heaven. I’m already grieving the loss of spending your birthdays with you, and you haven’t even turned one yet.

I’m struggling to have the compassion I should have…being back out in the world since having lost you has brought new challenges. When in the company of complaints, I struggle. It’s not right-if I love like Jesus loves, I feel nothing but compassion and empathy. But I feel so frustrated when I hear a pregnant mama complain-about the physical discomforts or being overdue or really anything. I struggle with overhearing mamas at the park with three kids complain about their chaotic, busy lives. I struggle hearing complaints about schedules or sleep routines or tantrums. I have grace in the moment, but not in my heart where Jesus sees and desires purity and love. My heart, sweet baby, gets so frustrated listening to these complaints.

I would give anything to be big and pregnant with all of the physical discomforts.

I long for more babies in this home, no matter the chaos or mess they bring.

I ache knowing I will never sleep train you, or deal with your tantrums, or spend sleepless nights rocking you.

It feels justified, my frustration. But it isn’t, Harrison. Because the single greatest commandment is to love as Jesus loves, and He would have compassion. I hear Him in each of these moments, whispering, “Give Grace.”

Because you know what? I’ve been full term pregnant before and it is uncomfortable. Their complaints are valid and deserve my compassion.

I am sure and can imagine how overwhelming motherhood can be at times with multiple children. I hope and pray I will experience that one day, but until then they deserve a loving, listening ear. And I have been the one to vent and discuss tantrums and sleep schedules. Thy are valid and deserve my compassion.

Grief is kind of like an out of body experience, all the time. I never feel truly “present.” When people are talking to me, unless it’s about Kate or you or your daddy and our lives lately, I have a hard time hearing what they are saying. I am listening, or at least I’m trying, but my mind is still going. Still thinking of you. Still thinking of our loss. Still wishing you were here. Then often times they will stop talking and I have no clue what they said.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t been alone in awhile. When I was still home, Kate would go to school a couple of days a week while your daddy was at work, and each of those times I would sit in your room and cry, blog, look through your things and hold them tight. It was my “grief work” as my grief therapist, Mrs. Judy, calls it, and she’s right. It’s work. Hard work, but good work. Work that needs to be done. I’m having a hard time finding the time for my grief work, and I’m beginning to feel it’s weight and need for release.

I love the quote at the top. It is simple and accurate. I kissed you. I had the beautiful opportunity to kiss you and I am so grateful for that, but I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye. I wanted to kiss you goodnight. And while I am eternally grateful to our Heavenly Father for heaven and for His kindness and grace and tenderness in my mourning, it still doesn’t change the fact that I do not get to kiss you anymore on this side of heaven. We have hope and know that we will see you again, but we still want you now. Every night, a new missed moment to kiss you goodnight, until we meet again. I will just give the extra kisses to your big sister. Even so, there will always and forever be a Harrison shaped hole in all of our hearts, always a desire to kiss your sweet little face. Until then, I ask Jesus, the angels, and loved ones who are there with you to give you sweet little kisses for me. I’ll post some pictures of your sister and what we’ve been up to recently.

I love you, baby boy. To Heaven and back, I love you so.

Love,

Mommy