Dear Family Whom I Do Not Know,
Every time from now until forever, when the sun rises on August 6th, it shines differently for you and me. For you, a reminder that time does go on, and it’s gone on another year without the one you love. For me, a reminder that my husband was born again in a sense, and there is hope after night sweats of darkness. For you mourning. For me joy. It’s a dichotomy that pounds in my head because I want to understand. But I don’t.
I do not want to take away what you feel on this day. Your mourning is yours, and you are justified in feeling it. I would feel it, too, if I were you. Confusion, anger, loneliness, despair. No miracle takes away the agony. It perhaps, just maybe, gives it a context if we’re fortunate, but that’s about it. There’s still a hole. It is deep. Nothing replaces it.
So I won’t try to convince you that there’s a purpose, a reason, a plan. I know that there is, as jumbled as it seems, but I simply do not know what it could be. I’m still just as baffled as you. “Why me?” lingers in my head, too. Just for a different reason.
All I want to say is “Thank You” once again, out loud. One more thank you that will extend until the next time the calendar hits upon this date.
And I want to show you a photograph.
This past year something special occurred. Another heart was created because of your gift. It’s small and it’s strong and it’s a girl.
I will never understand, but I know this. Your husband, father, son, relative, friend is not forgotten. The hole remains. New life abounds. Not once. But twice. And who knows? Maybe even again one day.
So may this photograph make the sunshine look differently today. If only for today. Know that I am forever grateful. And one day she will be, too. When we tell her how her heart made it to this world.
My prayers are with you. May God continue to give you His peace and His strength.