Hurty Thirty

I dreamt about Josiah last night.  It's my own fault.  I shouldn't have blogged about him before going to bed.

He was taller, longer, his round face thinned a bit, curly soft hair and the same chocolate eyes I know so well.  His hair was shaved a little on the sides, like someone had cared enough about him to make sure he looked well groomed.  He looked too thick and heavy to pick up, but I did anyway.  I put my hands under his arms and felt the tug in my legs and lower back as I settled his weight awkwardly on my hip.  


"Do you know who this is?"  I heard someone ask him as he looked at my face, puzzled.  


"She looks like someone I knew once,"  he said.  "She looks a little like my mama, but I think she had shorter hair."


"I can cut it again." I spoke swiftly and softly.  "I was going to cut it again anyway.  Maybe you'll recognize me then.  I would do anything for you, Josiah." 


And then I woke up.  Welcome to thirty, Megan.

There's something about every birthday, every milestone, every holiday that reminds me that the house is emptier, quieter, more peaceful than it was last year.  Every time there is a special day, a little voice likes to say, "This time last year, he was here.  Remember how happy you were when he was here?"  I hate that voice.  There is too much truth to it to dismiss it quickly, and just enough lie to let me wrestle with it and let it spoil what should be a happy day.  

I tell myself that I wouldn't be able to give my girls as much energy and attention if he was here.  I try to remember what it felt like to have to pack him up for visitation every week and watch him cry as he drove away without me.  I think about the knots in my stomach watching Justin have to deal with talking to Josiah's grandfather, and how much I hated going to court, praying that the outcome would end in our favor, talking with law guardians, nurses, and case workers trying to advocate for the well-being of my son.  I try to focus on how good my life is right this moment..."Hasn't your life been easier without him?" I argue with my previous thoughts,  "Can you imagine how hard it would be having three right now?"

None if it matters.  I miss him.  I miss him.  I miss him.  And this time last year, he was here.  Eating my birthday cake, squishing it through his fingers, and licking it off the back of his hands.  

When I drove to work today,  I prayed for Josiah...that he is happy and healthy and knows how loved he is.  My thoughts drifted to how many times I took this drive and cried out to God to please move mountains for this little boy.  I remember how often I was comforted when I would see a single sparrow cross the road in front of me.

"My eye is on the sparrow,"  He would speak to my heart. "Josiah is worth more than many sparrows."

Today as I prayed, I told God how happy I should be, how grieving this loss should hurt less by now, and how much He has blessed me.  Shouldn't the good outweigh the bad, at some point?  Shouldn't I feel so overwhelmingly thankful that there is no room for hurt anymore?

Just as I rounded a corner, on my way through a cornfield, I saw the most amazing display of a flock of blackbirds that I have ever seen in my life.  Swarming in perfect synchronization, like schools of fish, thick black billowing clouds, thousands- I mean THOUSANDS- of blackbirds.  Whirling, swirling, fluttering wings.  "Look at me! Look at me!" they demanded my attention.  I think I must have slowed down to 15 miles and hour, and still they descended. Different flocks from every direction.  Coming, coming, coming, like they all had something to say.

"Do you think Josiah is beyond the scope of my care?" He spoke.  "If you only knew how much I love him.  He is worth more than many, many sparrows."    

I don't know how to explain how this road to healing can be both filled with grief and joy at the same time.  I only know that when I question His faithfulness, He is the lifter of my head.

It was a hard day, but I think I'm going to like thirty.