My dear sweet Lucy,
This is a letter to you, my daughter. I miss feeling connected to you. I struggle with how to connect with you. I miss you. Oh, how I miss you. I miss what having you alive and in my arms means. It means living without knowing this awful pain. Life was still hard, yes, but not painful like this. The sleepless nights, the inability to be there for daddy entirely. The torturous existence when I am half asleep and half awake and my worst nightmare is my living reality. I would rather live a thousand lives awake and moving and exhausted than one more minute in that state. But I live there everyday. You living means my brain can turn off by itself. It means brother and sister and a family that doesn't have a gaping hole and sadness dangling heavily over every fun event. Like overly ripened fruit ready to drop. It means living in a world of so much possibility and promise. I miss that. I long for it.
I've been struggling so much lately. In such a different way than ever before. The music has all died and I am left alone to stand and figure this out. This thing called mortality and being a mother of two children with one child for the world to see. A mother with a broken brain and a broken heart.
They say the Lord loves things that are broken. Broken earth to soak the rain and feed the flowers. The break of day to heal the night. And broken hearts to influence and mend and mold. But does there come a point that you break beyond repair? Broken communication, broken relationships, broken souls. How are these things made right? How could it ever be made right that my daughter was taken from my arms?
I sat alone in my barely lit living room this evening pouring over photos and scrapbooks of you, soaking in everything. I see so much of Peter in you when I look at those photos. I see so much of you in Peter when I look at him. Where do I look to see myself? I don't see your mom in the mirror. I only see her in the broken things in life.
My faith is shaken. My doubts are many right now. My fears are strong. I can't believe you died. I can't believe I handed you an apple slice and you died. I can't believe it. I hate it. Why? It isn't fair. It isn't RIGHT.
Oh, Lucy. Please help me. Please comfort your mommy and calm my heart. Let me know you are near. Help me know I am going to make it. That I can make it.
Sometimes it all seems like too much. The the stress of living in such an imperfect mortal world, as an imperfect person.
Tonight I just wish for a peaceful night of deep and needed rest. I will face the day tomorrow with a long run to clear my head and keep moving forward. One heavy step at a time.
I love you isn't good enough. I miss you isn't strong enough. Isn't that why one verse in the Book of Mormon states simply, "And Jesus wept." There are just no words beautiful enough to describe my sorrow.
Forever and Ever,
Little Molly Mommy