It's been two weeks since we said hello and goodbye to our baby girl.
We feel like we've aged at least a year in that amount of time.
Physically tired.
Emotionally exhausted.
Last night we went to the cemetery.
We need to design the gravestone.
I didn't want to duplicate any of the markers around Naomi.
It was horrible.
When we walked up I saw the patch of grass that had been cut out of the ground and laid back in place and my heart ached.
The reality that my baby's body is in the ground was just too much.
I stood there and cried, but I really wanted to scream until I had no voice left.
I've been reflecting on Psalm 30:5 this week:
For his anger is but for a moment,
and his favor is for a lifetime.
Weeping may tarry for the night,
but joy comes with the morning.
Right now it feels like we are stuck in the deepest, darkest night we have ever known.
I'm not sure when it will end,
but I'm holding out hope for the morning.
It's been two weeks.
It feels like one minute.
It feels like a hundred years.
