Empty Hands

Your birthday would have been sometime around today. What would it be like to have you here now? I remember you every single day, but it has been a while since I last thought much about the would-haves and what-ifs. Today, the emptiness is more noticeable. You are once again at the front of my mind and the center of my heart and the corners of my eyes. I know nothing about you. I have nothing of yours. I can’t even really imagine you because there is nothing to go by. I look at my empty hands and wonder about you and hate that I never got to know you. And I feel ungrateful. Because my hands, my heart, my life… they are so full. You were a gift rescinded, yet the life I still have is a gift itself. It is still very good. But when I miss you, I want to forget about all my blessings and just wallow in the heaviness, roll around in the sadness, and let it consume me. Can I do that? Just for today? Pretend that everything is worse because you aren’t here? 

Pray for your mama, sweet Emmet. Losing you has shaken my faith. I want to sing out that it is well with my soul; I want to accept that this is God’s will and feel the peace that surpasses understanding… because none of what I’m feeling makes any sense to me. I want to be thankful that you exist, even if not in my arms, as our intercessor in heaven.