Rise and Swine

He jumps from the wagon full of wonder and excitement. This is what he's come for. Tiny sneakers sink - slip in mud and my chunky toddler topples to the wet earth. He jumps up quick. His denim now a few shades darker. But I can see the eagerness burning through those cornflower blues. Hundreds line the hem of the field but they're not what he's seeking. Up a steep slippery slope he scales. I'm trailing behind thinking I should have guzzled another cup of coffee. His eyes searching the expansive field until finally he finds it. An orange sphere with a thin, long, rough handle. The call is out. Time to head back. Quickly! We trudge our way through the never ending rows of orange but his legs only go so fast. With two bursting bags in hand, I'm unable to carry him and of course he insists on carrying his treasure which makes us all that much slower. They're yelling. Waiting just for us. We're close when he trips into the sticker vines. Wiry thorns impaling

This post is about when I lost Miriam but it's in honor of all the babies I have in Heaven. Alexandria Joy - February 1995 Jeremiah Michael - September 2012 Hope Isabella - October 2014 Miriam Grace - July 2016 The flowers they brought sit on the counter. Untouched. They're beautiful, and I'm grateful, but they're not for pleasure they're for the dead. To touch them somehow means to accept that she's...dead. For two days they sit. Finally, one by one the stems are arranged and into that corner of my darkness they bring the beauty I needed. I know tomorrow is the day - so I curl into the cushion as if it's a mothers embrace. Lap heaped with a mess of cream and I weave a blanket for our baby to be wrapped in. Buried in. With each stitch my heart is torn right through. The loss of dreams. Nights I'll never have to hold her close. No tickles. No laughter. No kisses or prayers or bedtime stories. No unruly hair to brush in the morning. No tea pa