Winter Solstice

It's December 21st, Winter Solstice. That means it's the longest night of the year. How fitting that it's also the 3rd anniversary of the confirmation of Carys' diagnosis. The anniversaries always bring back flashes of memories from three years ago. Crying in the bathroom floor as I prayed and hoped the diagnosis wouldn't be confirmed. Feeling almost numb after returning home from our specialist appointment that confirmed her condition. Time helps, of course, but there are times a memory will hit and it all feels fresh again for a moment. The emotions are all so intense, even if they do hit much, much less often these days. We miss our baby girl and always will on this earth.

The thing is, just like the longest of nights, this world isn't forever. We have such incredible hope of a peace unlike anything we could ever experience here, and simply the thought of that peace is renewing and uplifting to me. Just thinking about the glimpse of Heaven we had when the babies were born is enough to lift my spirits and let me look forward to the daylight instead of looking backward at the night. 

Here on this earth, we're not still in our "longest night" phase, thankfully. We still have night and day - moments of grief and sorrow that feel dark, but they are much more balanced with the daylight. 

Yesterday, my mother-in-law and I were at the cemetery with Paxton and Paxton and Carys' new baby brother. Watching Paxton at the cemetery is always bittersweet. Instead of getting to know his sister, he knows her headstone. 

When he sees it, he says "Caysis' gave!" And he wants to "sit by her."

It makes me smile and breaks my heart, all at the same time - but i'd still rather have had her with anencephaly than not at all. She changed our lives and our perspectives. In a very good way. 

I still look forward to Heaven more than I could say. BUT, in the meantime, I feel joy that outweighs my sorrow and peace that is much stronger than my pain. I am blessed and so very grateful for my family. Being on maternity leave, I cannot express how much I have enjoyed just being with my boys, or what a gift they are to me. 

As we were leaving the cemetery, Pax said cheerfully, "Merry Cwismas, Caysis!"

So indeed, Merry Christmas, Carys... we miss you, baby girl. 

Some day, the long night will be over and we'll be with you forever!

Psalm 30:5

For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life:
weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.