Up

I unloaded the dishwasher today, first time in two weeks. I went to put someting in the cabinet under the sink and noticed that the hair tie that holds the doors closed was undone. I went to replace it and realized with a shock that there was no need. There won't be little baby hands trying to get inside. Moments like this happen constantly.

My compulsory need to write drove me to the desktop today. I've been writing on Will's laptop, avoiding this screen that is covered with Damon's fingerprints. He loved this computer, loved it.

Every time I feel like I'm starting to get a handle on the sorrow, the agony reaches new depths.

Today Will and I visited the local Humane Society. We loved on every single animal in the place, every single one. I've always loved animals, they heal somehow. Toward the end of our visit we met Ulmo, an 82 lb Antolian shepherd mix. He was amazing, a gentle giant if I've ever met one. He loved on me with every once of his 82 lbs. His walker kept saying "wow, he really loves you." Animals know, the really good ones anyway. He was convinced my lap was the only acceptable place to sit. My amazing husband patiently waited while I spent the better part of an hour with Ulmo. He took pictures of the giant in my lap and for a moment, the despair lifted.

I reluctatly left Ulmo with his caretakers and headed to the car. I grabbed Will's phone to send the Ulmo picture to myself and there staring back at me was my baby. The brief moment of peace vanished and I sobbed. I cried harder this afternoon than I have in days.

I miss him and everything reminds me of him.

I used to think that I saw the world from the perspective of eternity. I've been deeply in love with God, steeped in His word for some time now. His healing changed who I was, changed how I thought, set me free. But I didn't see the world from the perspective of eternity. My heart was still for this world. This sucks, every breath hurts but I'm looking up. From now on, always looking up.