Season of Hope

I'm not sure what I thought it would be like when Isabelle arrived. I certainly did not believe that Isabelle's presence would somehow erase the pain and sorrow over the death of Hope, but what I wasn't aware of is how much deeper the ache would be when we had Isabelle. You see, I now know with greater understanding how much I have missed and will continue to miss of Hope. I never did get to see Hope giggle or master the art of rolling or crawling or exploring. I will never snuggle with Hope in the wee hours of the night or hold her close when she cries. I won't have those moments where I just look at Hope with an overwhelming sense of God's love for me and my certain love for my sweet daughter. These moments are so precious with Isabelle and I am so incredibly grateful for them; I am so blessed to have Isabelle in my life and yet I still have a longing for Hope.

We're entering into the season of Hope, really we're already here. So many things about October and November trigger the memory of losing my sweet baby girl. Things like watching playoff baseball and choosing Halloween costumes remind me of sitting on the couch on bed rest wishing to be back at work. The first signs of the flu, runny nose, aching throat, take me back to the sleepless nights I spent at Herb's parents house when we were there for his reunion...the flu that started there was the beginning of the end. Silly things like the smell of smoke in Herb's car, which prompted a ridiculous argument right before we lost Hope, penetrate my memory. Our minds are so tragically beautiful in the way they remember. I am so grateful to remember the last moments I shared with Hope and yet the memories pain me when I am least expecting it.

I'm not sure what to do with the season of Hope this year. I am most certainly teary and I often find myself snuggling Isabelle for as long as she'll let me. I plan for us to go visit the Children's Memorial Park on the 10th, but these simple things don't seem like enough. And so, as with everything, I have to take it to Jesus. He has to be the one to hold Hope a little more tightly this year, to rejoice in her laughter, and clap at her milestones. Jesus has the joy of being Hope's Daddy in Herb's absence. Herb is the most amazing father I could have never imagined and I am grieved that Hope never knew him like Isabelle does, but Hope knows the greatest Father; the Father who never has to leave for work, or mow the lawn, or discipline her. The Father who gets to sit and watch her play every day to His great delight. I am so grateful that Hope knows her heavenly Father and now my daily prayer is that Isabelle will know Him the way Hope does.

In this season of Hope I will be teary, I will be overcome with memories, I will be sentimental, but I will also Hope. I love her name--it is the definition of how I get through days, of who I know my God to be. My sweet baby girl lives on in her name and in my heart through this season and always.