Don't Think I'm Nuts, Just Desperate.

These past few days I have been in an awful funk. What should have been a relaxing long weekend at home, turned into a daily struggle just to hold it together doing bare minimum requirements.

As many of you already know, Our daughter Claire died a little over 7 years ago. That was a dark, horrible time in our lives and a struggle to just keep moving as time continued to pass by. Much healing has happened since then and much joy has also been felt in our home, but there is not a day that passes that she is not the first thought in my head as I wake and the last thought I have before closing my eyes at night. This is all very common and to be expected until kingdom come.

Every once in while though, you hit a bump in the road and a small trigger rips opens old wounds and fresh grief washes over you. Catching you off guard, like a sucker punch that knocks the wind out you. Unknown is how long it will take to catch your breath again.

Days (and days) of this also take you by surprise, because you have convinced yourself that you are far removed from grief this raw in nature. You try to take comfort in knowledge from past experience, that this level of pain and darkness will pass in a matter of days, but that is like telling a non-runner "only 26 miles to go". That is where I have been since Thursday.

When I find myself in this place, I tend to beg ask Claire for something, anything. Any form of closeness or contact to show me that she is close and safe. I know in my heart that she is fine, it's me that's not always close and safe, but as a mother you long for your children. You long to hold them and to hug them and I can't tell you how hard it is to have that luxury taken away. To know that you will never hold them again in this life brings physical pain and arms that truly ache with that grief.

About 4 years ago I found myself in deep grief and longing. I had been asking for Claire to throw Mom a bone, so to speak, for quite a while. Early one morning while Mr. Weasel was in the kitchen and I sat drinking coffee and watching early morning news, one of the Weasel girls, wearing yellow, fleecy, footie PJ's (Weasel's love footies) left the bedroom of Middle Weasel and Monkey Weasel and made a bee line for Smallest Weasels bedroom. Smallest Weasel was still a baby and sleeping in her crib. I whisper - hollered (all of you parent types know what I mean) "Get out of there! You better not wake that baby!". Mr Weasel asked who was up and I told him, that I wasn't sure. One of the girls and they better not wake the baby.

I didn't see or hear anything else, so I let it go. They must have snuck back to bed. Again, about 10 minutes later, a little girl with light brown curls and yellow footie pajamas left the girls room and headed into Smallest Weasels nursery. Again I whisper hollered "get out of there and don't wake the baby!". Within seconds, Smallest Weasel was up and crying for me to come get her out of the crib. I headed upstairs to her room, ready to strangle reprimand whoever had woken her. Only no one was in her room. I picked up Smallest and went into the girls room to see who the culprit was, only to find the girls (and all other Weasels) sound asleep in their beds and not wearing yellow, fleece or footies. It then dawned on me that none of the Weasels own any yellow PJ's of any kind.

I knew immediately who had woken the baby and as I relayed this information to Mr. Weasel (who overheard all of the exchanges, but wasn't in the room to see anything) I laughed with joy and observed "Well, she doesn't listen. She's one of them (a weasel) Why should expect any different?". This little incident brought me much joy and comfort. It was just the sign I had been begging hoping for.

So last night, after 3 days of feeling like I have been drowning in an abyss of grief, Mr. Weasel informed me that today when exiting the shower a young child passed through his peripheral vision running out of our bedroom (Weasels aren't allowed in our bedroom/bathroom without permission. Especially when we are taking showers.) He poked his head around the corner to see who it was, but there was no one. The door to our bedroom was still closed and all the Weasels were downstairs and otherwise engaged. It only took him a second to make the connection, but let it go as he was already running late to get out of the house to church.

He waited until dinner to mention it to me. He's not sure that he believes, but he also wants to bring me any form of comfort he can. I was comforted. And a little jealous. I long for connection and a visual, no matter how brief. I told Mr. Weasel if anything like this ever happens again, he is to tell her "Go see your mother!".

I don't look as this as a ghost story or these sightings to be ghost like. I believe that it's much more of a "Mom needs me and some comfort" and thus she gives us a brief visit from Heaven. It's not much, but it sure does help me to feel better.