It is a very peaceful evening. We order take-out Chinese food, our new Christmas Eve tradition (thanks Aunt Deb)! As we sit around the fire tonight, I can feel Molly with us. Lucie and Brigham feel it too. I hold them close and they tell me how they miss her.
Then Brigham says, "She's with Jesus right?"
The innocent comment from my 3 year old pierces my heart. Here we are celebrating the birth of our Savior. And our Molly is celebrating in His presence. The thought warms my heart.
Brigham pipes up again, "So if Molly is with Jesus, then why are we sad?"
What a perspective! There is something so good and pure about children. I look at my kids and am again struck by how amazing they are. I need to tell them more often.
After putting the cookies out for Santa, we quiet the giggles and wipe sticky fingers. Shutting the door to their bedroom, I am overcome by a need to go into Molly's room. I open her door and glance inside.
Oh, oh my sweet baby girl.
I enter and close the door behind me. The peace that fills my soul is indescribable. Amazing. I hesitantly move to her crib and look inside. It's amazing how fast feelings can change. As soon as I see her blankets, I feel my knees buckle. I slowly pull out all of her pictures and momentos from the hospital.
Oh my heart.
I go to the floor and the tears start coming.
Every tear is filled with the utmost love and longing for my little one. I hold the dress she wore and breathe in her sweet smell. I finger the blanket that wrapped her tiny frame and wonder if my heart will truly burst. I open the little box the nurses put together for me. I take everything out, one by one, from her inked footprints with "Molly Faith" printed on the top, right down to her bum paste. And every emotion hits me in fierce waves.
I walk over to the rocking chair and place myself tenderly in "our" spot. This was supposed to be our place, a place I hoped to nurse, rock, snuggle, read books, and bond, just the two of us.
As I sit there rocking, I let the tears flow. The song "silent night" comes to my head:
A sweet calm overcomes me just as Tyler comes through the door.
We fall into each other's arms and hold tight. We want our Molly here with us. But if we can't have her here right now, at least she is forever with her Savior.
And we'll join her someday.
Oh, oh my sweet baby girl.
I enter and close the door behind me. The peace that fills my soul is indescribable. Amazing. I hesitantly move to her crib and look inside. It's amazing how fast feelings can change. As soon as I see her blankets, I feel my knees buckle. I slowly pull out all of her pictures and momentos from the hospital.
Oh my heart.
I go to the floor and the tears start coming.
Every tear is filled with the utmost love and longing for my little one. I hold the dress she wore and breathe in her sweet smell. I finger the blanket that wrapped her tiny frame and wonder if my heart will truly burst. I open the little box the nurses put together for me. I take everything out, one by one, from her inked footprints with "Molly Faith" printed on the top, right down to her bum paste. And every emotion hits me in fierce waves.
I walk over to the rocking chair and place myself tenderly in "our" spot. This was supposed to be our place, a place I hoped to nurse, rock, snuggle, read books, and bond, just the two of us.
As I sit there rocking, I let the tears flow. The song "silent night" comes to my head:
Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace!
Sleep in heavenly peace!
Oh my heart! Molly is with HIM! And she is sleeping in heavenly peace.
A sweet calm overcomes me just as Tyler comes through the door.
We fall into each other's arms and hold tight. We want our Molly here with us. But if we can't have her here right now, at least she is forever with her Savior.
And we'll join her someday.
Krista, you are more then right. 3 year olds are so honest. They see things so clearly. AND your Molly is sleeping in Heavenly Peace. I have truly enjoyed reading your blog. You have a special family. We think about you often.
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