Messages in Grief

    It has been a special weekend--a lovely trip to Baton Rouge for my daughter's baby shower from her in-laws. Many of her husband's family, friends, and his parents' friends brought love and gifts galore. It was a joy to be in the home of my son-in-law's grandmother, where he grew up, touring the beautiful neighborhood where he rode bikes, played soccer, lived life.  And now, there we all were celebrating the impending new life of  his baby daughter and my granddaughter, Perren Madalyn.
    As the births of my two newest granddaughters (oldest sister, Merete, is expecting later this year)approach, it's never far from my mind that Annie is having an angel's-eye view of all that is going on.  She doesn't have to worry about not hearing what everyone is talking or laughing about, we don't have to worry if we're signing everything for her, she doesn't have to battle the depressive disorder that took every joy and made it into something, that seemed to her, unattainable. Now she not only has the best seat in the house, but she can finally enjoy feeling nothing but love and gratitude and happiness for each and every one of us.  However, my arms will always ache to hold her just once more.
    She seems to know when I'm feeling this way--missing her a little extra. There are some pictures on my bulletin board in my sewing room: a fabulous sewing studio to daydream about--all wood and windows and big spaces; there are a couple of cards sent to me last Christmas with little birds on them that remind me of the bird that stayed with us as we buried Annie's ashes; there are sample Christmas cards I made for the past few years; but two things stand out. One item is a little poster Annie made for me quite a while ago with her favorite saying from a movie she loved:



The other is an old snapshot of Annie when she started a pre-school for children who are deaf. She must have been around three or four.  My comment about the picture was "I wonder why Annie loved Minnie Mouse so much?"

She was all set with her Minnie Mouse jumper, backpack, and lunchbox!  And the bow she always wore when she was little.  
    For me, it was a message through time and space, through grief, when the first of dozens of gifts Annie's big sister, Asha, opened at the baby shower some 23 years after this photo; the very first gift Asha opened was a Minnie Mouse backpack. After that, she opened a Minnie Mouse lunch box. I couldn't believe it...but I could. Because that's how God works. Annie is with me, with her dad, with her sisters, with her new nieces and nephew, with her brothers-in-law every step of the way. And she always finds a way to remind me.
    Until I hold you again, Annie...Mwah!