Avoid the Moon

The last few weeks or so, Josiah was obsessed with the moon.  Goodnight moon was his favorite book, and he would be so proud of himself every time he could find the moon in the picture and point it out to me.  When I would take him out of his car seat at night time, he would look up at the sky, point up and say, "Moon?" "Moon?"  I would take his chubby little hand in mine, and point it in the direction of the moon, and we would have our own little celebration and dance party in the driveway when we found it.  And then there was a big magnet of snowmen I have on my dishwasher that has moon and stars on it.  He wouldn't pass it without showing me he knew exactly where the moon was.

The part of me that desires to feel better, to stop crying and wear contact lenses again, to feel normal and productive, wants to put away everything that reminds me of the moon.  The magnet, the book, bananas, crescent rolls, etc.  Maybe there will be a day when I can look at them and not cry.  Today is not the day.

And then there is the other part that wants to be deliberate about my grieving.  I want to do it well and treat it as a season- one with a beginning and an end.  I feel like if I face some of the ugliness now, it's not going to come bubbling up when I least expect it and slap me in the face like a cold fish and spiral me into a depression.  I want to take every thought and make it captive to Christ, and I guess I'm struggling with which thoughts come from Him and which come from me.  And, I'm afraid that if I put away everything that reminds me of Josiah (which is about 75% of the things in my house) that when the time comes for me to take them out again, I will have forgotten all of the tiny details that I so desperately don't want to forget about him....like how his curly hair would tickle my lips when he sat on my lap when I read him Goodnight Moon, or how if I was reading on the floor on my belly, he would step inside the nest my arms made and lean his head against mine, or how he would point to the picture of the moon with his right thumb four or five times to make sure that I noticed and praised him.  I don't want to forget.

But then the other day, Molly was walking past my dishwasher, and pointed to the moon and looked at me and clearly said, "Moon?"  I didn't know she knew that.  Josiah had taught her.  And I know I shouldn't put it away because she is so proud of herself that she found it without his help.  And I know I can't not go outside at night forever.  I can not avoid the moon.

I've decided that just because memories are painful doesn't mean they aren't blessings.  There will be a time when I can read Goodnight Moon again without crying, and when that time comes, I can praise God for the healing He will bring and the tiny detail-filled memories of Josiah I will be able to recall that are so sweet and precious to me.

Maybe today when I make Molly her lunch I will cut her sandwich in the shape of moon.  I think Josiah would have liked that.  Maybe Molly will too.