When everything extraneous has been stripped from your life by a loss, and you are left naked and broken, sometimes just getting your pants on in the morning is a big deal. But you look for those moments that you see progress, too. Moving forward, whether in small steps, or giant leaps--in the end, that's the only thing I can really ask of myself.

Dear Levi...

I can't tell you how many things this year I wish you could have done with us,  or the things I wanted to show you. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to hold you close or hear your laugh. I can't tell you how broken I feel without you here.

I learned so much from being your mama. And by God's grace, I am learning still,

As a reader, I always thought that the ending was the goal. And it is. But it never occurred to me that it was the well-written middle that actually got me there as inevitably as a cart on a roller coaster track.

If only life had someone writing me out of my "swampy middles."

It's been quiet on stage here at Winters' Day In.

But so, so far from quiet backstage.

Are we in control of our destiny? Or is God? And who is to blame when things go wrong?

Yesterday was the four-month anniversary of Levi's heaven birthday. Thanks to some wonderful friends, I got to spend the weekend at a scrapbooking retreat, and chose to use that time to add pages to Levi's memory album. And while doing so, I remembered the reasons I have to be thankful.

Can we look backward and move forward at the same time?

Even though I don't understand the reason, I still believe. Like Job, I choose to believe despite the uncertainty. And because I choose to believe, my grief is changing me for the good.

Moving forward is what we are designed to do. I will never forget him, but it's okay to find pleasure and joy in other things in this life. In this life, there is a great deal of joy to find.

Moving forward is hard. Yes, the inexorable march of time moves us whether we want to move or not. But how do you "move forward" inside without feeling like you are leaving something--or someone--precious behind?

One word we would often use to describe Levi was "fearless."

He had no fear of anything--big machines, big animals, dangerous things, strange people (although he was often quiet around strangers--I think he was studying them, not afraid of them.)

I already recorded too few memories of our short time with Levi on film. Now, while those memories are still as fresh as possible, I intend to scrapbook them all, and some that don't have pictures, too.

One of the ways our loved ones chose to bless us in our grieving was to give us money to take a family holiday. We were already planning to take a quick weekend trip so that Jason and the boys could run in the Spartan Race in Westlock this past Saturday. Normally, we would combine that with a weekend stay at relative's, since they are only another two hours away.

But, in light of recent events, we decided to take advantage of our "time away" option and stayed at West Edmonton Mall for three nights in the Fantasyland Hotel following the race.

I can see why some people would choose to make a shrine out of their child's room when they lose one, leaving everything exactly the way it was. It is tempting to not get rid of a single thing, to leave it all just how they left it. Parting with the things seems like choosing to forget.

And truthfully? I'm terrified of the things about him that I am forgetting. My memory is so full of holes, punched there from this tremendous grief, that I already know that I have forgotten things that I wish I could hold on to tightly forever. Every day that passes feels like it is taking me one day farther away from my boy.

Being human is hard. There is so much pain involved in this thing called "life." But it is also joyful. What makes life easier is walking this road with other humans, and sharing those experiences of joy and pain with each other.

But there is a time and place for everything.