It’s always crazy to me how grief works.
I had entirely forgotten that the girls’ four glasses that they drink juice out of every morning were the ones hanging by a string on her nursery wall—forgotten that I had placed the baby’s breath in them that I had dried from flowers from her baby shower. And it all just came back to me one afternoon when I was taking them from the dishwasher. Taking my breath away, the refreshed memory rushed back into my fingers, holding one of the glasses.
Standing in the store aisle, picking them out and deciding they would be perfect for my great idea.
My fingers tied the dainty pink ribbon around them and into a little bow.
Gently pulling off the dried flowers and gathering them into the glasses,
my big pregnant belly pressed into the changing table as I reached up to hang them on the knobs I had made sure were perfectly even.
I stood back to admire the display.
And then making sure it was all super sturdy so nothing could ever fall while I was changing her.
A beautiful little picture. I was preparing a special place for her. Making her room as unique and special as her sisters, not wanting baby number three to feel like baby number three. With the way the glass is cut, the cups have a little sparkle to them. A feeling of vintage, for sure. And I have always loved them. I can’t remember taking them down when we finally decided to move.
I still can’t remember picking up anything from her nursery. I slightly re-call slowly, forcing myself to pull her initials off the wall and all the feelings that came with that, but not anything else. I’ve tried to think about unpacking, too. But I honestly can’t remember a single thing. I know I tried to incorporate some of her things into our decor everywhere.
I know I insisted on all three of their baby pics hang on their bathroom wall.
Her pink curtains hang in our bedroom that I put up while Shawn was away on a work trip. He was surprised to come home to that! We have one baby spoon in the drawer with all our other silverware. Her recliner is in the guest room, along with some of the other things people had given us to remember her after she made her trip into Heaven.
Some of her clothes she wore and never got to wear still hang in that closet. I’ve tried to give some of them away but haven’t been able to yet. I might keep them, but who knows. The plate I made my mom for the one Mother’s Day we had, of all three of my girl’s feet in shapes of hearts, sits on a shelf in my kitchen, where I can see it through the glass because she gave it back to me and placed it there sometime after we moved in.
So, I’m guessing I saw the cups in a box and just put them in my kitchen. And then they just became the ones I pulled out every morning. Until it just became normal, became part of our routine. And the pain associated with them slowly began to slip away as morning memories in the sunrise light filled them till they overflowed with something new.
God is always working on creating something new.
Growing beauty from ashes, turning our mourning into dancing. And I didn’t even notice it right before my very eyes. Until my heart was ready for the memory to return to me, so now they hold the value of ALL the cherished moments, without the ache. The something new intertwined with the something old, without the agony trying to steal away the joy. Now I can hold them and remember how special they indeed are.
Maybe grief provides a buffer in that way, wrapped up in God’s tender mercy and grace. He is nurturing the shattered pieces of our hearts. His truths and promises are filling in the brokenness with hope. Comfort bending down from the Heavens, catching our tears and giving us a divine strength to continue and holding the memories tangled up in pain. He is rescuing us day after day. At the same time, He waits until the heart is ready to display His perfect timing.
Maybe someday I will remember more.
When my heart feels less broken and more put together. But, for now, I’ll hold these cups a little more gingerly. And remember how my God has cared for me through my most challenging moments, how He has restored little shattered pieces of my heart. And how my cup overflows with the love of my three precious little girls.
