I wonder what color your eyes would be.
I wonder about how many bibs we'd have to go through each day.
I wonder what your cries would sound like.
I wonder how it would make your mommy and me feel to see you sleeping with your sister.
I wonder when your heart stopped beating.
I wonder if there is something that could have been done differently.
I wonder why it was you.
I wonder about all the lives you have changed.
I wonder how I can honor your legacy.
I wonder how it will be that day when my class of sixth graders comes in and you would be their age.
I wonder why Izzie can see and play with you, but we can't.
I wonder if Charlie would steal your toys.
I wonder how much fun bath time would be for my two girls.
I wonder if Izzie would crawl around with you from room to room.
I wonder if you would have her mannerisms.
I wonder what your giggle would sound like.
I wonder if you would enjoy tickles and wrestling with Izzie and me.
I wonder what foods you would like.
I wonder what I am supposed to learn from all this.
I wonder how I can use your legacy to make the world a better place.
I wonder what you'd feel like sleeping on my chest.
I wonder if this hurt will ever lessen.
I wonder if I will ever be able to concentrate again.
I wonder when I will be able to believe how lucky you are to not have to experience hurt and pain.
I wonder when I will not want to trade everything I have for just a few more minutes holding you.
I wonder if we'll ever find out why you died.
I wonder if you hear me when I cry out for you.
I wonder what it will be like when I do get to hold you again.
I wonder if I would have the same relationship with God if you hadn't died.
I wonder how much fun Christmas would have been with you opening presents.
I wonder what your first day of school would be like.
I wonder how beautiful you would look on your wedding day.
I wonder about the day you would choose to become saved.
I wonder what you'd be like today...
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Another sign from my angel...
This morning I was missing Sophia quite a bit. I missed seeing signs, namely the white butterflies we'd seen every day since she passed away. I tweeted out a message:
I made it to school early today. Normally, I get there with about ten minutes to spare before the first bell, but this morning I had about thirty minutes to prepare for the day. I guess I had anticipate the roads would be slicker than they actually were.
After I looked over some notes, I had to go an put my lunch in the refrigerator. I walk around the corner to head to the teacher's lounge and see a fellow teacher walking with his one year old daughter. She is well known among the staff, so when we walked in to put his lunch away, she just walked around in the hall. I could hear her saying, "Dad? Where Daddy?" and she put her hands up in a quizzical manner. We met eyes and she asked me the same question. She reaches out and takes me by the hand so I can help her look for her dad. He walks out of the lounge and I say, "Here he is!", and all is right in her world. I walked in to the dark lounge to put my lunch in the fridge, close the door, and begin to cry. While Sophie wouldn't be walking (she'd be about eight months old as of today), she would be crawling around. I wonder if she would be babbling what I would say is "da-da". I wonder what our lives would be like, how Izzie would treat her younger sister, how much she would help us with feeding her and at bath time. I wonder what my days would be like coming home to two beautiful little girls and see them napping together. I stand there, by the counter trying to compose myself when I happen to catch a glance at a ziploc bag full of plastic spoons and knives to my right. There is a single napkin folded in half in there, and printed on that white napkin above the fold in yellow, is a butterfly with it's wings outstretched. Instantly, this overwhelming sense of peace and sorrow filled me all at the same time. She still wasn't going to be there when I got home, but she was there with me at that moment, to let me know "It's ok, Da-Da. I'm here now."
I made it to school early today. Normally, I get there with about ten minutes to spare before the first bell, but this morning I had about thirty minutes to prepare for the day. I guess I had anticipate the roads would be slicker than they actually were.
After I looked over some notes, I had to go an put my lunch in the refrigerator. I walk around the corner to head to the teacher's lounge and see a fellow teacher walking with his one year old daughter. She is well known among the staff, so when we walked in to put his lunch away, she just walked around in the hall. I could hear her saying, "Dad? Where Daddy?" and she put her hands up in a quizzical manner. We met eyes and she asked me the same question. She reaches out and takes me by the hand so I can help her look for her dad. He walks out of the lounge and I say, "Here he is!", and all is right in her world. I walked in to the dark lounge to put my lunch in the fridge, close the door, and begin to cry. While Sophie wouldn't be walking (she'd be about eight months old as of today), she would be crawling around. I wonder if she would be babbling what I would say is "da-da". I wonder what our lives would be like, how Izzie would treat her younger sister, how much she would help us with feeding her and at bath time. I wonder what my days would be like coming home to two beautiful little girls and see them napping together. I stand there, by the counter trying to compose myself when I happen to catch a glance at a ziploc bag full of plastic spoons and knives to my right. There is a single napkin folded in half in there, and printed on that white napkin above the fold in yellow, is a butterfly with it's wings outstretched. Instantly, this overwhelming sense of peace and sorrow filled me all at the same time. She still wasn't going to be there when I got home, but she was there with me at that moment, to let me know "It's ok, Da-Da. I'm here now."
I miss you sweetheart, and I love you too...
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