Seven Years

I can't believe it's been seven years.

It was a day that rocked our little town to its core.

I will never forget those primal screams of maternal grief.

"My" girl wasn't the only one who died, but her death, and her brother's injuries, were just--yeah, that.  I loved her as my own.  And every time I see him, I greet him as my own prodigal son.  He will always be one of my 'extra' sons.  Hers was a loss that was a punch right to my gut.  It took the breath right out of me, and it felt like months before my lungs could fill back up.  She was like a daughter to me.  I had a fondness for her that transcended mere friendship between her mom and myself.

That night when we got home from the hospital, I crawled into bed with Noah, just needing to be close to my own child.  I could not be close enough to my own children.

The events that followed in those next few days were so incongruous.

Death overshadowing life overshadowing death.

I rocked my not-quite-a-baby, but not-yet-a-toddler, just shy of his second birthday, holding that still new life close, as we buried three kids and brought two badly injured kids home.  As we sent three kids home to Jesus, Noah gave his heart and his life to him, and was baptized.

So many of us barely kept it together in the subsequent weeks and months. 

She was one of the few who knew the secret who was Avery before anyone else--her mom was one of my best friends, and my friend found herself giggling, unable to keep the secret from her daughter.  We had a youth retreat the weekend I found out I was finally pregnant, and I was just so afraid of losing him.  I wore a hoodie with a front pocket so I could keep my hands protectively on him without anyone thinking anything of it.  She would come up, wrap her arms around me, and tuck her hands in the pocket with mine, resting her chin on my shoulder.  When no one was looking, she would bend down close to my belly and whisper, "I love you."  She paraded him around, so proud, when he was born.

We were so afraid of losing him, and we lost her.

 I often wonder what she would've been today.  Her brother is one of the reasons I fight so hard for Avery.  He fell through so many cracks. I see many similarities between them.

Some anniversaries come and we celebrate them. Others come and we think, "Has it really been that long? It doesn't seem possible the earth has been missing her for (seven) years."  Not a day goes by you don't miss that person with every fiber of your being, then you realize the anniversary is upon you.

Sometimes I'm still so angry over the circumstances, but I realize anger does no good.

Instead, I just hold my own kids a little harder.  I celebrate them a little louder.

I tell myself it's what she would have wanted.