What do you do when everything you hold turns to ash?
I'm thinking about this question today, six months after our last post and more-than-ever-antsy out of my ever-loving mind.
A year ago, I spoke of provision. It didn't make sense. It pointed to hope and holiday cheer and possibly-maybe-oh-God-please placement before Christmas. But it was all supposition, quiet little statements and questions I wrote secretly within my art journal. Our adoption was suddenly and inexplicably paid off and so naturally my thought process turned to not how but when?
Today, I'm stunned into silence again but mostly because of legacy.
I'm thinking of emails sent across the pond and money transferred and generosity displayed and not a thought crossing any of the minds that time is short and so thank you seems small.
I'm thinking of how someone is more than likely (he better be, do you hear me up there?) hugging our child before we even get to and how this makes me sad and crazy and at the same time I shake my head because of course. Of course he gets to meet our child first.
I'm thinking of holding squishy arms and baby legs and whispering so close I can taste the baby-breath he helped bring you here. This one? Did you meet him? Do you know him? He helped bring you to my arms.
Because time is so short. And sometimes, thank you is so small.