A Light for My Path

I often look back at past journal entries and sometimes marvel how much has changed, but often find that much of what I did, said, or felt still holds true. The things that stay the same tend to be because I’m a creature of habit. Things that have changed are frequently because I’ve gotten older, as have other family members. The grandkids, especially grow up so fast.

I ran across this journal entry from just after Labor Day weekend three years ago. While hurricanes, bum knees, and bad tires kept us from having a family get together this Labor Day, the sentiments I expressed in 2020 don’t seem to have changed much.

---

We had a fun, active holiday weekend. My city grands love coming to the country and getting to play in the river, shoot their pellet guns, make a bonfire, and pretty much spend the entire time outside minimally supervised. The adults spend a lot of time on the porch solving world issues, rehashing family history, and telling bad jokes while keeping a surreptitious eye on the kids. We tell ourselves the calories from the biscuits, burgers, beer, cake, ice cream, and barbecue are counter-balanced by the swimming, fire pit sweating, flashlight tag, and salad. I love every minute of it.

Then when they go home I have a meltdown. I’m not busy any more even though there are 12 towels to wash and 3 bathrooms to clean (do boys have any idea how to aim?), a bunk bed to remake, and a dock that needs sweeping.

Now it hits me. What was missing from this family weekend?

I’m not angry at God anymore after 3 years, 4 months, and 27 days. Well, only maybe a little. And my grandkids fill up that vacant space in my heart. Mostly. And my older daughter is a joy. No caveats required.

But, at 9:30 at night, after I’ve set out the last bag of trash and rinsed out the last water shoe, it hits me again how much I miss my Rachel. And it’s been so long that when I type her first name Facebook presents me with 3 other friend choices I might be referring to.

I don’t want her to fade out. I wish she were here telling corny jokes with us and complaining about mosquitoes and daring each other to jump into the spring-cold water.

I miss my daughter. Still. Always.

---

After 6 years, 5 months, and 5 days I can truly say I’m not mad at God anymore. I’m glad and grateful for that change. I don’t understand why Rachel had to leave this world, in my opinion, too early. But, I trust God’s timing and believe that one day either I will see clearly why she went to Heaven when she did. Or, the blessings of eternity will override my need to understand.

What remains the same these 6 years, 5 months, and 5 days later is: I miss my daughter. Still. Always.

---

Laura