Looking Back

I recently came across an old post on our family blog.  At the time I wrote that post, I was scared.  I was scared for Samantha's future and our own -- as a family.  I often contemplated what our lives would be like without her.  I was in fear of waking up one morning without her.  I was in fear of all the what if's that all of a sudden entered our lives when we stepped into our new special needs life.  I look back and read this post and a flood of emotion comes back -- the sadness, frustration, panic. 

As I reread this post, and remembered those feelings, it occurred to me that looking back was exactly what I was doing.  I was looking back.  Looking back to a time that was difficult.  Looking back to a time when I felt like I was struggling to breath at times.  Looking back to a time when I felt alone and a bit isolated -- as much as I tried not to be.  Looking back to moments when I thought I just couldn't make it.  Looking back. 

As I read, I was looking back at what once was -- and reflecting on what we had overcome.  See, you can only look back when you have made it through.  The tunnel may seem dark and narrow at times.  You may begin to feel claustrophobic and like the tunnel will cave in on you, especially when you can't see the end.  And while you're army crawling through that dark tunnel, sometimes it feels like you can only see or feel where you currently are.  But, ultimately, when you make it through, that's when you have the pleasure of looking back and seeing what you made it through. 

In deep appreciation today, I reread that post -- realizing where we are now.  Reappreciating how in love I am with Samantha and Callie, and Marcus.  And feeling an increased amount of respect, honor, and love for my Heavenly Father -- for sustaining me during that time.  I didn't realize it then.  It was only a logical sustaining.  I understood, logically as I leaned on my quivering faith, that He was helping me.  But today, I look back -- 4 years later -- and know He guided us through.  

I'll never know the future.  I can't predict Samantha's life.  But I no longer fear for her.  Now, we are going through a particularly good, stable time in her life.  And I'm sure, in fact I have no doubts in my mind, that fear will creep its ugly way back into my life...but then, when that happens, I hope to stumble upon THIS post, so I can look back and be reminded that I can make it through...I can feel love and peace...and I will know He's there.  And that will help me to once again look forward.   

Put Your Head on My Shoulder

Dear Samantha,

You make me melt.  You do the smallest, simplest thing, and I'm in tears because I feel my heart overflow with joy. 

You have a cold.  And colds are hard because you can't blow your nose.  You can't clear things out yourself.  You just kind of suffer through it, all stuffed up.  I mean, you've suffered through worse, but I think we all agree that colds are annoying.  Today Jacqueline came from the newspaper and took some pictures of you for the upcoming article.  You weren't particularly happy, but you weren't sad.  Oh how I wanted you to shine so everyone who saw you in the paper would feel your spirit through those eyes of yours.  But, you're a little foggy with this cold and...that's ok.  You were perfectly chipper 2 hours after Jacqueline left.  I wished she could have been there then.  The rest of the day you were perfectly pleasant.

Usually you go to bed quite well, but tonight, about 45 minutes after you were in bed, I heard you singing.  Well, you aren't really singing, but that's what we call it.  Grammy calls them whale calls.  I went in, you smiled so big when you saw me.  We went through the routine of the saline nasal drops and Eucerin around the face (you get so chapped when you have colds), and you just smiled at me and locked eyes with mine like I was the most magical, fantastic, perfect being in the world.  And you know what?  I felt like I was.  You made me feel like I was pretty wonderful.

I turned off the lights, and you put your head on my shoulder.  That's when the tears filled my eyes and gently flowed over onto my cheeks.  You have never put your head on my shoulder before, and it was...so simple, but so beautiful.  You normally just curl up into a tight ball against my chest, but this time, it was a perfect way to end my evening.  You fell asleep almost instantly and after a few moments I laid you down.

I'm not sure what it was about you laying your head on my shoulder.  Partly, it was so normal...and not many things about your life are considered "normal."  But, I think it has a lot to do with the love you shared with me only moments before -- that look of adoration -- and then to just lay your head on my shoulder...that absolute trust, maybe.  Again, I'm not sure why that moment was so dear to me, but it was. 

And it's a moment I hope to never forget.