It's okay to cry, but much more fun to dance

"Heyyyy, how are you?"..."Good!" We exchange smiles and awkwardly pretend we're looking at our phones or trying to find our children so we can escape what would inevitably be a clumsily strung together conversation that we'd rather just avoid for fear of not knowing what to say. 

Or would it be? 

"What do you say to a person who's had a child die? 

What if she cries?

 I really want to ask how she's doing, but I'm not sure if I should bring it up."

If these thoughts sound familiar, you are not alone! In fact, I'm writing this just for you! 

Truth: When I say I'm "good", that means that I'm moving on with life just like everyone else. It means that I'm embracing what it is to have a child so close to my heart but so far from my arms. It means that some days, my heart aches for him, and others I can think of him and smile. It means that he is just as much a part of our family as I am. No child's drawing is without him. He's never left out of bedtime prayers. He even "sat" on Santa's lap for Christmas pictures. He's so much a part of our family that the only thing that's missing is his body. 

Truth: My heart bursts every time someone asks about him. I don't care if I cry, I cry anyways. You aren't bringing anything up that I don't think about daily. It reminds me that I'm not the only one that thinks of him. It reminds me that his short life created a ripple effect in this big world and that I'll never know how much he's impacted this world this side of Heaven. I can't explain how much it meant to be asked about Isaiah in the middle of Elijah's gingerbread house party in his Kindergarten class. (you know who you are:). The tears fell and some 5 year olds stared, but my heart was overjoyed to talk about this healing process and to know that someone cared enough to ask. 

Truth: I was angry for awhile. The best way I can explain grief is that I feel like I'm walking through a minefield with a blindfold on. Just as I start to gain some confidence, something unexpected happens and BOOM. There goes my leg and I'm laying on the floor in his room for hours trying to recover. 

Truth: If I had been without a Savior, I'd still be maintaining a life without Isaiah. I'd still have three kids to tend to, and I would undoubtedly know the value of each day I get to spend with them. BUT! Those minefields I travel through would have mentally blown me to pieces. If there was no calm in the storm, no light in the darkness, no rest for the weary, no hope that I'll see my boy again, no promise that he's safe in the arms of the very One I cry out to in agony, this journey wouldn't be worth taking. If my Ava crawled into my lap, sobbing while she recounted the details that she witnessed on that night, and I wasn't able to calm her with the promise that her baby brother is alive & made whole, I would have given up. 

Truth: God is right here. This isn't some fairy tale or sweet thoughts to think about...but I have to be honest that I haven't always felt Him. The biggest lesson I have learned in this journey is that I need to be intentional. For awhile I sat idly, putting minimum effort into digging into His Word, or finding healing for myself, because I thought it just took time. I didn't have the energy for much, and so I waited. And waited and waited. Until I finally realized that all I was doing was waiting to wake up one day and have the energy to be the mom, wife, child of God, and person I wanted to be. Ring ring. That was my wake up call. Intentionally seeking God with everything inside of me..reading, praying, singing, reading, admitting I'm not ok, tearing down the walls that I started to build to guard my heart. All that stuff, yeah it's working. So when you ask me how I am and I say "good", what I really mean is "alive"... and I haven't felt that way in 8 months.