Thursday, June 7, 2012


Sometimes life seems heavy, to use a word that Patrick Jr. says all the time.  He's usually holding a toy truck in his hands while saying, "mommy, heavy.  heavy, mommy."  

In the most minor of events of my life, sadness has a way of making itself known.  It's like I've been served a full glass of it and I'm not supposed to spill, but yet I'm asked to run and jump and play like I used to.  How can I do that if my glass is full?  Much like the way of grief, I have to learn to balance the glass.  I have to incorporate the sadness into my life.  But every once in awhile, it spills and I'm left to clean it up.  How I do that is different every time because sometimes, I'm in the grocery store while others I'm comfortably in the privacy of my own home.  And while I recognize that my cup of sadness will always be full, I also recognize that I have a full glass of happy too.  It keeps me afloat through the harder times.  I know that when I'm overwhelmed with anxiety, sadness, desperation for her, that my God lifts me up.  He gives me just enough hope and strength to make it through.  He always has, just as He gave to my sweet and wonderful CHARLOTTE.  

I was reading about another little one who just went through her third surgery for HLHS and with each word I read, I felt like shouting out, "I know!" or "Me too!" or "I wish that Charlotte were here."  The hardest trial of my life was walking alongside of my baby and watching her endure all that she did.  Time and time and time again, she did I.  It was - as it still is - up to me to trust and to be patient.  I trusted my precious baby girl's life in His hands and I know that, now, He is holding me as I trust in His perfect plan. 

Part of me finds comfort in what was hospital life.  It's like running into someone from your home town.  You're like, "hey! i know you."  So if I happen across someone who knows what Milrinone does or what an arterial line is, it feels like home.  Just like when a hometown friend texted me the day that Charlotte died.  She said, "would you believe me if I told you that once you're home you'll actually miss the NICU?"  I read the text aloud to my kindred spirit who was "our" nurse the last few days of CRM's life...and I agreed, even before I lost her.  So it's natural that I would find comfort in the place that was Charlotte's home.  Would it be so bad if I showed up and asked to work a shift? :)  

My peace is knowing that Char Char, my sweet and wonderful Char Char, is with her Maker.  He gave her wings and He has made her whole.  She is my hero.  The first thing that I'll do when I arrive in heaven is to whisper in her ears that she is my girl.  I will await that day so I can tell her how amazing she is.  How beautifully perfect and wonderful she is.  I will hear her little girl laugh and smell her hair and feel her skin as I hold her and am finally...AT PEACE.


  1. you have such a way with words, Sarah. you move me to tears. prayers & BIG hugs to you, friend. xoxo

  2. your sweet Charlotte was such a brave little girl, and it's easy to see where she got it. i hope you know that time will not take away from the prayers that are being lifted up for you and your family. They haven't stopped, they won't stop. as you work to find a balance between your full cups of happy and sad, i hope you you can feel the cups of love spilling all around you.

  3. Sarah, this is such a beautiful post. Thank you for being so brave. I love you!