How do I get "through this"?

Whatever "this" is, I'm getting through it; We're getting through it.
Not by any measure of "strength" that I have, but through others.
My faith.
My wife.
My daughter.
My son.
My friends.
How do I not collapse every time I see Ani?
I have hope, and I have her.
Every time she looks at me with the "I love you, daddy" eyes.
Every time that she is happy when I think I would give up.
Every time she laughs. Every. Single. Time.
I won't give up on her, and won't let her give up on herself.
In return, she doesn't give up on me.
It is truly my privilege (and difficult job, to be sure) to care for her.
I can celebrate her victories.
I can shake off the bumps along the way.
Because she does.
She's the hero, the brave one, and I might get more strength from her than I give to her.

Then and now.

I'm at church, singing now. 

I was at church singing 6 years ago. 

We put a little boy in daycare today. 

6 years ago we did the same for a different little boy. 

We skipped out then, all hand-in-hand. 

A girl who still walked and talked. 

A boy who still lived. 

Clueless parents. 

Happy and unaware.

We ate lunch, had naps. 

And then that life turned into this life.

This life is so different, I don't even know how to compare the two. 

It's likely not even useful or healthy to even try.  Even so, as I am by Ani's side as she faces her challenges, and I can't help but think of the difference in the direction her life would have taken.

How much of my inner pain and frustration goes to Micah?  Too much probably. 

Who are you now?

As much as I could know you at 2 1/2, I knew you Nate.
I knew you, I loved you, I could guess what you would want to eat.
After 6 years off this earth, who are you?
I can barely keep up with who Ani is inside, and I see her every day.
I can just never wrap my head around the fact that a whole person is gone.
A whole person that stars in hundreds of pictures in my library.
A whole person that stars in my heart so prominently.
A whole person who waits patiently, bathed in the love and praise of God in Heaven.
I'm sure I will know who you are, recognize you as my son, but who will you be?
Maybe that;s not even a valid question, I don't know.

Not because of me

Not because of me should you fault God. 

Not because of others should you fault God. 

Not because of yourself should you fault God. 

For God loved the whole world,

He sent his love TO our world. 

For nothing can separate us from God. 

"The rules" cannot,

"Religeon" cannot,

My sins cannot,

Your sins cannot,

Doubts, questions and your past cannot,

No earthly voice can change your status. 

Improvements!!

Ani's eyes have been working dramatically better in the last few days!  It's obvious that her brain is actively trying to calibrate them again. 

Also, she's done a couple of very normal head shakes for "no".

Parts of me everywhere.

I fractured that day.
In many ways I am no longer whole.
Of me that remains here on earth, pieces are everywhere.
My sadness lives in Withrow cemetery, loud enough for me to hear wherever I go.
My appreciation of a simple sunset lives in Ani, silenced, and whispers to me of its return.
My regret lives in Hugo, where simple decisions were made monumental.
My mischievousness lives strong in Micah, reminding me of myself, Ani and Nate.
My faith and duty lives strong within me, pushing my feet in front of each other.
When I die, I'll leave my sadness in Withrow, with my body, and finally know true peach elsewhere, dancing forever.

Quickest roller coaster ever

I've got to tell you what happens to me when I see other children around me. 

Before I was a father, children were almost unseen. It's not like I didn't care at all, but I didn't have a huge heart for them. 

After I became a father, everything changed. Every baby was an example of the fingertip of God. Every pregnant woman became beautiful. I pray quick prayers for both. My smile on the outside was only a pale imitation of the hint God gave me of his love for them. 

After I became a parent of a lost child...a terribly hurt child, it changed. I still had that great feeling, but then it is like the peak of a roller coaster, you're going to hit the bottom soon. At the bottom, I can feel the pain of:  "I wish my daughter could speak or move", "I wish my son were still here so I could smell his hair again". Depending on how much the child reminds me of Nate or Ani will make the intensity of the low point easier or harder. I guess it doesn't happen with every child, or with kids I've gotten to know, but there is one that seems to get me all the time. My great nephew Ben. Seeing Emily's son is always very hard, since he and Nate were born so close together. I am somewhat ashamed at the way I can't control my reaction. 

I hope, on the outside at least, that my smile continues through the bottom of the roller coaster when I see some babies.