Archives / 2013 / November
  • The Shrine

    Tomorrow will mark a year since we lost Jenn.  More than once I have gone to write about the day she left, the purple fuzzy jammies with white polka dots, the look on her face as I walked away… but I just can’t. Even a year later the wound is still too raw, the pain too deep.

    For the first few months I felt empty and brittle, as if the slightest touch or one insensitive word would shatter me into a million pieces that could never be reassembled.  Though I didn’t shatter into a million pieces, I will never be the same. And that’s okay.

    It’s hard to carry a grief that few people understand.  Yes, she is alive.  There is hope for her future.  Ours is a God of miracles. He is watching over her; He will lead her to the cross.  But, the harsh reality is that this baby, who I love, is being raised by a heroin addict.  Each day I need to place her back into the hands of the Father.  If I couldn’t do that I would  be those million shards strewn across the floor.  I have learned more about trust in this last year than in my other thirty-four combined.

    I can’t look at pictures of her.  As I go through Photo Gallery with my kids and stumble onto a picture from those eight months, something …