9 weeks and the rollercoaster

It's been 9 weeks since we said goodbye. I think about Christian all of the time and I'm reminded of him everywhere I turn. I just finished a photography class. I sat in class tonight thinking about how I would never be able to take photos of Christian. One of my most favorite things to do, and I can't do it. And it just stings! I let my mind go and imagine that if he were here with us tonight I'd be getting some cute shots of him during tummy time, or maybe he'd be in his swing. I would imagine that I'd have some cute photographs of him and his big brother Chase together...

A lot of people describe the grief journey as a rollercoaster. Not only because of the literal ups and downs, but because of the backwards and forwards of it all. Some days I feel like I am making progress, I feel small snippets of the "old Erin" coming through the cracks. Then a few days later, and sometimes hours or minutes after those thoughts, it comes creeping back in. Angie Smith writes in her book I Will Carry You:

I curled up in my bed and I let the sorrow in. She came swiftly, deeply, consuming. And she whispered to me in the dark of the night. I am here to stay.

And that's how it feels a lot of the time. It feels all-consuming. Angie goes on to later say she is praying for anyone who has lost a child, and praying that God will fill us in ways that only He can. And I know that He can. Most days I have to remind myself of that over and over...

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

2 Cor. 4:16-18