sympathy tears

My dear sister Noelle is having a hard time.   She just gave birth to a beautiful little Angel named Emily.  Little Emily came with some unique struggles of her own.  At week one, she had to undergo heart surgery.  Week two, she had to learn how to drink from a bottle so that the parents could take her home.  And she had to find time in all of that to grow and develop and learn and survive this big, new, scary world.

Noelle is like any mother...she wants only the best for her little one and she wants all the world to love her little one.  Noelle is recovering from surgery and she is struggling with post pardum depression.  She is trying to figure out how to work and be so tired she can't think straight.  She is trying to understand her emotions and get them back to they was she remembers they are supposed to be.  She is trying to learn the ropes of being a mom, while not stressing about bills and insurance and work.   And really, she just needs sleep. 

I am not a mother.  I don't know what the emotions are that a mother feels.  I can't find the right words to say to Noelle.  Yet, I can tell her that the emotions will level out.  The pain will go away;  physically and emotionally and spiritually.  The routine will begin to make sense.  The prayers are heard and will be answered.  And the little one that she loves so much will be loved and cherised by all, because she is just what I said, an angel. 

This one is special and she has a mission in this life.  We don't know what that mission is, but it's a miraculous one.  I  look forward to watching as mom and daughter grow together and work at becoming what they are meant to become.   I sure love them both!


And Noelle -
please have jason bring me your laundry and I will do it!  I'll iron and fold and clean as much as you want!

Today was good; tonight was difficult. 

That was the opening line in my journal tonight.  And as I wrote, I just cried.  And then I thought of the one place on earth where I always found peace and the one person who could always talk me out of a funk. 

That place is dear to my heart, and yet it holds some good memories and some bad.  I've written about "the farm" before.  Tonight, I long to go on a drive with my dad and head to the farm.  I long to tell him about my future plans and my dreams and the path I need to take to get there.  I long to help him build his dream barn and talk till I'm blue in the face.

You see, dad was just so good at letting me talk.  I could ask questions about anything and he would answer; sometimes we would discuss religion, sometimes politics, sometimes school, sometimes history.  But it didn't matter.  I could talk.  And I would magically forget all the hard things and I would leave the farm happier than when I got there.

I miss those days.  And tonight, how I wish that I could be there....