It's been two years this week since our dear friends lost their firstborn son the day they were expecting to deliver him. Brave is still very alive in our hearts and we long for the day on the other side of this life where we will meet him face to face.
"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy..."
I hear it every day. So many times every day.
I've been guilty of declaring, "that's not my name today," eager to hide from the little voices behind the needs that will distract me from my conversation, my tasks.
And yet, she longs for it. For the distractions. For the little voice.
It would be a welcomed and coveted beautiful sound in her ear.
To hear her baby's cry, as she feels her body preparing to nourish him and realizes her clothes are soaked and will need to be changed before she runs errands later.
To hear her toddler's sweet, squeaky voice call out for her,
tearing her away from whatever less important task she was accomplishing.
To hear her preschooler ask for help spelling his well-fitting name.
These are sounds I hear every day.
These are the sounds I take for granted every day.
Lord, I'm sorry.
Friend, I'm sorry.
Two years. Two years without her firstborn.
My heart still wrenches for her when I think of how Brave she's had to be.
My children. Healthy. Here. Needy of my attention and love.
Everything else pales in comparison. Really.
Andrew & Christy have displayed incredible bravery as they have grieved these last two years. For more information on their journey, you can visit them here or here.