Real.

I went back today for remembering. 

I woke up this morning, and I wanted to go.  I haven't been to her grave site since the day we buried her, and I wanted to go.  The past few weeks have been a blur, and though we've been drinking in deep of the now, I had started to feel numb- like maybe it was all a dream or something- like burying my daughter hadn't really happened.  The tears had come, the arms had ached, but somehow I had managed to guard my heart just enough in the past weeks to keep the full weight of the sorrow at bay- but today, I wanted to feel.

Its been three weeks since Jubilee was born and they laid her on my chest, and I wanted to remember. 

I wanted to be sure I'm feeling.  Everything.  So I had to go to a place where it all felt real.  Where its not possible to be numb or forget or get caught up in the rest of life, or even think only about where she is now.  I wanted to go somewhere where the sorrow would touch me- where it would rack my bones and touch my soul so I could know I'm doing this right.  That I'm grieving fully.  That I'm remembering and feeling and rejoicing and praising and being redeemed to the full.  Because I want this to be real.  This joy.  This assurance.  This faith that God is always good, and that His ways are higher than ours.  How could I know this peace is real if I didn't allow myself to feel the full weight of sorrow and loss?  So I wanted to go.  I wanted to go to the place where I could do nothing but remember and nothing but feel.

And I did.

When I got there, it was all real. 

And I remembered.

I remembered what it was like to hold a precious one pound and ten ounce little darling bundled up in a blanket in my arms.

I remembered what it was like to hold her tiny head in my hands.

I remembered how proud I was to show her to my sweet friends- how touched I was that they were just as in awe of her as I was.

I remembered how excited I was to tell her big brother that all of her bandaids were gone and that she was in Heaven with Jesus and his little sister Eden. 

I remembered his smile and his little voice in awe as he took in the "yiddle baby" with her "yiddle hands" and "yiddle nose" and "yiddle mouf".  I remembered his gentle excitement as he met his "yiddle schishter".

I remembered what it felt like to place my lips against her soft blond hair and kiss her. 

I remembered how much I loved watching her daddy hold her.

I remembered the captivating glimpse I caught of her gorgeous seaglass eyes.

I remembered the tightness in my throat when I let her go for the last time and handed her to her daddy.

I remembered the tears.  The way I couldn't breathe.  The pain of saying goodbye.

Then the torrent of tears came as I remembered what it felt like to kneel at her grave site and press my fingertips to her casket. 

I remembered what it felt like to be 26 and burying my daughter. 

I remembered how my heart swelled when I sang "Jesus Loves Me" because we had sung it to her so many times before bed and because it was such a simple song with such a beautiful promise.

As I kneeled on the damp earth, the sun shining warm on my shoulders, I saw that the dirt was fresh, the grass new. The sound of lawn mowers in the distance tethered my heart to reality, and as I ran the palm of my hand along the tips of the fresh new grass covering my daughter's grave, I remembered the pain- felt the pain.  My arms ached.  My tears fell. My heart squeezed.  My throat got tight, and my breath caught in my throat.  It was real.

But then my spirit took a breath- a deep, soul-filling breath- because the rest of it was real too:

His goodness.

His faithfulness.

His joy.

His grace.

His Kingdom.

His promise.

I remembered how He was faithful.  Through each and every step of the way.  I remembered how we made pile after pile of rocks along the side of the road while we were pregnant with Jubilee and after her birthday because we wanted to look back and see the piles and remember how faithful He was and how we saw His fingerprints on every bit of our story. 

And with tears sliding down my cheeks, I grinned. Because I went to into the deep.  I walked the valley again this afternoon, and I came out on the other side and it was all real- the pain, the suffering, the heartache- but the glorious part?  The glorious part is that this joy is real too.  This hope, this heart full of only gratitude to my God for the gift of our girl and for His plan for her- His plan for us- this heart and everything its been feeling- the joy amidst the sorrow is real. 

My daughter is gone, our hearts have been broken....and, by the grace of God and the tender healing hands of Jesus, I am filled with joy.  God's grace?  His mercy and tenderness and goodness and joy and hope? Its real.

I was afraid it wasn't.  I feared that if I went back and really remembered- that maybe I wouldn't get back up again.  That maybe my flesh would fail and that I wouldn't be able to see His fingerprints in it all.  But my flesh?  All it sees is Him- His goodness, faithfulness, joy, grace, promises- His hope. 

The tears are real.  The hurt is real.  The ache is oh, so very real.  But there's something more- the healing is real.  The peace is real.  The joy is everlasting.

Praise be to Jesus!

As I pulled out of the cemetery today, I pressed the brakes right in the middle of the road because as I passed the entrance where I had driven through to kneel again at Jubilee's grave, I saw rocks. A whole wall piled with them.

He is faithful.  His joy is real. Never once have we walked alone.  God's writing our story with grace, and today I looked back at our piles of rocks and remembered that He is always good- and felt to my core, to the depths of my soul, that His mercy and love endure forever.

Forever counting it all grace,

Brittany