We recently moved to Georgia for my husband's new job. It is such a blessing that the Lord provided this opportunity for us. There wasn't really much keeping us in our current town. My parents lived there when we moved there a few years ago, but my Dad's job has them travelling a lot so they are rarely home. We loved our church home, and it was a great place of healing for us in the past year, but we were ready to move on to our next adventure. One thing holding me there was my daughter's grave. I know she isn't there. When I've gone to visit it feels so empty and silent. I know she is in Heaven, but this is the last place we were together.
A book I recently read and identified with, "I Will Carry You" by Angie Smith expressed it very well, "I know she isn't really in there; it's just that her knees are, and I would have loved to kiss them after she fell. I need to mourn the loss of the arms that cannot wrap around me here. Braided hair, a wedding dress, her first wiggly tooth. They are deep within the ground, never to be mine. I needed to feel that loss, and I did."
When we knew we were going to move I told Matt that I would like to visit Callie, alone--(with no kids--I specified). And it didn't happen. It isn't that I didn't remember because I thought about it every day. It just didn't happen. Oh there were reasons. But I wonder if I invented those reasons because I'm not good at good-byes. What I do know is that I wish I would have gone to see her one last time. It might not make sense to you if you haven't experienced loss, but I have deep regrets about this. I should have done whatever it took to see her. Sometimes with everything and everyone else screaming for my attention the silent ones get overlooked. And she is silent. My heart isn't. But she is. So for now, I will wait until we get back and go and visit my silent daughter and be silent with her.