November Rain

Remember the song? It’s like the longest Guns ‘n Roses song ever. It’s not at all related to my post today, other than the title. Today is November 5th, and it’s raining outside. Profound. It felt weird not to preempt my post with a {31 Days}! November 1st I had to nearly physically restrain myself from posting about nothing for the sake of posting something. I am so thankful for the 31-Day-Challenge, and that I was able to complete it, though. Tough as it was, it was worth every keystroke. 

Anyway, I’m thankful it’s raining today. You’ve heard me talk before about my need for lots of sunshine, but I’m thankful it’s raining because that means it isn’t snowing. Not yet, anyway. As much as I feel like I’m ready for winter, I’m not. The cemetery shortened their hours at the end of October, as they do every year, and having three less hours during the evening to go visit Harlynn makes me feel so limited. Silly as it may seem, I don’t like only having the hours of 8 to 5 to go see her. That said, I’m glad they close up at night to keep vandals at bay. Even still…what I wouldn’t give sometimes to just pack up in the middle of the night and go sit at her site. 

No….more than that. What I wouldn’t give to have her call out to me in the middle of the night, because she’s had a bad dream. What I wouldn’t give to groggily comfort her and lull her back to sleep. What I wouldn’t give to crack open her door, tip toe in her room, and pull her covers back up over her to make sure she stays warm. What I wouldn’t give to have her come barreling into our bed in the mornings. What I wouldn’t give to watch her poke her big sister, and tackle her baby brother. No matter what I give, though, those things will never happen. So instead, I sit here thankful it’s raining and not snowing, and her grave goes one more day without being covered by a blanket of white. 

I sit here thankful, because even though we didn’t get to keep Harlynn, we’re still able to keep the hope of seeing her again. I sit here thankful because there are things that have happened, and keep happening since losing her, that remind us of how loved we are – and are therefore an absolute reflection of how loved she is, every moment of every day. Not just by us. But by, and because of Him. 
There have been a lot of changes in our home over the last couple of weeks. I started working a few hours a week as a virtual assistant, which has given me a boost I didn’t realize I needed. I wake up to an alarm every day instead of sleeping as long as possible and getting up when Little Man decides he’s hungry. I start my day in the Bible instead of in a rush to get ready. I have a schedule and a routine, that so far I’ve been able to manage pretty decently. I cook actual meals for my family instead of throwing a frozen pizza in the oven as my culinary contribution. (Though, I still will be cooking frozen pizzas from time to time.) I’m feeling purposeful. It’s been a while since I’ve felt purposeful.
Looking over these last 19 months, I don’t think anyone could have convinced me I would be in this spot – emotionally, mentally, spiritually – after losing Harlynn. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, purpose, and having the reward of simply being productive, has carried me a lot further than I would have imagined. Having Little Man here to slobber on my face has not only made me feel closer to my husband and to Little Miss, but to Harlynn as well. Even though we’ll forever have an empty chair at holiday meals and she will forever be missing from our presence, I feel a strange sense of completeness. She isn’t here, but she is. We’re missing her, but we aren’t. I feel like I’m finding her every day, all over again, in everything I do. In every part of our family. 
I also feel like I have to type fast, because each time I pause to look out the window, I see flakes of white infiltrating their way into the rain. Just give me a few more days, snow. Just a few more days.
Today, I’ll be thankful for the November rain. For one more day without cover on her grave site. And for the simple fact that life, as I know it, is still life.

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