In recent weeks, I had an experience that I wanted to share. No, it’s not this picture. This picture was actually taken last year, around Memorial Day. But I wanted you to be able to see the pinwheel, as it’s relevant. Besides, this particular photo seemed like a fitting illustration for the experience. But I’ll get there.
A few days ago, I had an appointment. I have them fairly often, like most people. As a stay-at-home, homeschool mom, my appointments usually mean a little schedule juggling. Since I can’t work around the kids’ school schedule, I have to figure that part out. I used to try to work around Hubby’s schedule, but that doesn’t usually help me anymore, so I have to go other routes. In some ways, it’s like being a stay-at-home mom with kids who aren’t old enough to go to school. Anyway, I had an appointment.
Since I couldn’t take the boys with me, on this particular day, I had taken them and dropped them off at a family member’s house. I left them there, knowing they were in good hands, without a second thought. I knew they’d be fine, slapped a kiss on them, and walked out the door. They weren’t any sorrier to see me go than I was to leave. They’re boys, and that’s life. Whatever.
(I’d like to interject at this point: I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, the kind of mother who dumps her children on others with no thought. However, that being said, I am a stay-at-home homeschool mom. I do not feel guilty about spending an afternoon, or even a weekend, alone, or with my husband, while they are in someone else’s care. As a babyloss parent, I understand the struggle to balance the need for their security, but I still enjoy some occasional “sanity breaks”. They are boys, after all!)
After I dropped them off, I decided to stop by the cemetery. I was nearby. My husband and I had been planning to stop a few days before and had ended up skipping the visit. I don’t go often; there is no joy there for me, only sadness. However, it is important to me that others know she is still important, so we try to keep decorations on her gravesite all the time. I had gotten a new pinwheel to put up; that was why we had been planning to stop. Since I had some extra time, I decided it would be a good chance to take down the old pinwheel (the one in the picture) and put up the new one.
I pulled in to the cemetery and drove back toward the section where our daughter is buried. Thanks to the giant pinwheels, her place is easy to find, even if it weren’t permanently burned into my mind. I pulled up last year’s pinwheel, faded and worn, and replaced it with a fresh new one. I “visited” for a minute. I always struggle with that part; I’m never sure what is “the right thing” to say or do. (By the way, I don’t think there is one.) Then I walked back to my car.
As I was walking away from that spot, headed toward my car, I was hit by the irony of the situation. A few minutes before, I had left my boys, something I don’t do terribly often, without a second thought. Now here I was, leaving my daughter, who I haven’t seen in over 3 years, and it’s still hard. I think it will always be hard. Still, it struck me that it was easier to leave those I’m with all the time than to leave the one I can never have with me. And she wasn’t even there!
It made me think back to when she was born. Leaving her at the NICU was hard. There was uncertainty, but I really believed that it was where she needed to be. And her brothers needed me, too. Still, it was hard. I wanted to be with her. In many ways, though, it was harder to leave the cemetery, on the day she was buried. I know she really wasn’t there. But, at that point, that little shell was all that I had left of her. And to walk away, knowing that even that part of her would never be mine again, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. There’s just something about it…it feels, somehow, like I’m abandoning her, every time I walk away. I know there’s no truth to it. It just feels wrong.
Anyway, I drove away, that day, thinking about how warped things are. I have two sons that I want to see grow up and leave my home. They are my responsibility, and yet I can leave them in someone else’s care, knowing they are in good hands, and go about my day. But I struggle to leave my daughter, who is no longer my responsibility. And she’s in better care than anyone I leave my sons with!
Why is it that we so desperately want what we cannot have, while taking for granted the things we have in our hands? I know there’s something of human nature in it. I know that, to some degree, it’s to our benefit – the relationship we were meant to have with God is beyond our grasp, yet we cannot help desiring it. Still…
I don’t really have any particular conclusion, for this particular post. It’s just been on my heart to share the experience with you. I pray that God uses it. I don’t know what He’s wanting to say through it; I just know He wants me to share. I hope that it’s a blessing and an encouragement to you; it’s something that’s been on my heart a lot.