I’ve been writing a lot about the farm and lambing lately. And then I took a few days off because we had snow and I was busy keeping up with the kiddos and catching up on work from days out of the office. I don’t talk about it very much, but I do work full-time outside the home and trying to be all there when I am home, means the paperwork can really pile up when I’m off for a few days. So when I sat down to write a few new posts, I started skimming through my Flickr account (43,000 items and growing, again)…
Because it still hurts to see all these beautiful pictures, all these beautiful moments, and not be able to share them with my parents.
They would have loved seeing the kiddos driving the go-cart!
They would have loved throwing the football with the boys!
They would have been right in the middle of every moment. They would have seen every picture. (Yes, they’re probably the only people besides me that would ever go through all 43,444 pictures!) They would have heard every story. Watched every speech. Clapped for every soccer trophy and pine car derby certificate.
They would have celebrated no-time-out days, and K5 Graduation days, and every spelling test 100% (I certainly didn’t bring many of those home for them to get excited about!)
They would have known each of those little voices over the phone by heart.
There’s nothing like the pain of forgetting–for just a moment, just a breath, just a smile…
Just long enough to reach for the phone…
And there’s no one to call.
It comes and goes.
Sometimes I deal with it by keeping it to myself until it eases a little bit. Holding it close and quiet and waiting it out. Just letting it be there. Letting the first sharp pain pass, fade into a dull ache. Not pretending to have words when there are no words. Not pretending to share when I can’t share.
That’s been these few days.
Other days are different. Other days I deal with it differently.
But this time, these few days, it has hurt.
Next week I’ll have farm updates and finish up our Lambing Help series.
But right now, today, I’m just here, in the moment, quietly.
“It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him. The Lord is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him. It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.“ (Lamentations 3:22-26)