Words

"I may not long for death, but I surely long for Heaven"- Joseph Bayly

There are days when I still miss the sound of my daughters' voices. It's crazy to miss something so much that I've never had. When the girls were little, it bothered me a lot that they couldn't talk to us. Usually at this point, life moves on without so much sadness and regret for what simply isn't, but every now and again it creeps in.

It began as I read a blog over the last few weeks of a family whose beloved son was dying of cancer. So many of the thoughts and emotions his parents experienced mirrored my own as my child agonizingly slipped away. They had something I didn't, though. His words. He spoke to them about death and Heaven, fears and joys and letting go. So often during Abby's journey I wished I could speak to her and understand what she felt. I wished she had a voice in the last days instead of my guess. Hearing the words of this young man, and the comfort it brought to his family, made me feel a little envious of that gift.

It intensified last night as I cuddled with Emily. She was trying so hard to tell me something.
"ma" (more)
Do you want to tell me about a person?
"Ya"
Is it someone in our house?
"Uh-uh"
Is it someone at school?
"Uh-uh"
Is it your nurse?
"Uh-uh"
Give me a minute to think.
The dog?
"Uh-uh"
Give me another minute.
"Ma"
You still need to tell me something?
"Ya"
About a person?
"Ya"
Is it about you?
"Uh-uh" (beginning to get upset)
Do you want your computer? (This takes several minutes to set up, and Emily was already in bed)
"Uh-uh" (starts to cry)
Okay, sweetie, lets take a break while mommy tries to figure this out. She calms down, and I leave her room because I can't bear the look at her face. Frustrated disappointment.

She knows exactly what she wants to say, and can't. How awful must that be for her?

I can't tell you how many times I have been overwhelmingly grateful for the few words my kids do have. I know many parents who would give their right arm for 5 little words from their child. We ARE blessed to hear Emily and Abby's voices, but that doesn't mean that the frustration we all feel from not being able to communicate isn't a daily challenge.

As I was falling asleep last night, I thought of Abby in Heaven. I'm sure she's talking and singing. She will never again know the frustration of those around her not understanding her. I thought how one day, I will be in Heaven too, and there will be my daughter. And she will speak to me, and I will hear her voice for the first time. I imagine her words, and tear up. I hope she simply says "hi, mommy".

I do long for Heaven.