They creep up sometimes, unexpectedly, while I stand at my kitchen counter, spreading the knife, back and forth, back and forth as I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Outside, in the back yard where we now have a little swing set, both girls swing. One in the baby swing and one going high enough to make the swing "pop", as she says, and a huge, beautiful, graceful blue and black butterfly lands on the top pole of the swing set. And I come a little unhinged. Sure, most days I would be delighted to see this little reminder of him, especially near both girls, the only way I feel that they are all together sometimes, if you know what I mean.
But today? Today I don't want the damned butterfly. Today I want my son. I want my son, dammit! I hate this. I hate it so much that I can't even find the words to contain my vitriol. Why isn't he here running around in the grass with his big sister? Making me nervous around the baby? Taking things down off the shelves and making messes and stomping his foot while he experiments with his two year old independence?
Why isn't he here?
Oh, Father, why isn't he here? Some days the trust comes so much easier than others. Some days I can sit back and say that yes this is the plan for our lives and be at peace with that. Some days I can't. It's a struggle today to say, yes, God, yes I trust You, even in this. Even in this.