missing Liz

Over the last year we have missed Liz for many "first times"... the first 4th of July, first fall, first school year, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year; first birthdays - hers and each of ours; first Mothers Day and Fathers Day. We noted that a year ago we were in the hospital for IL2, or flying to California for study drugs, or learning cancer was in her spine and her brain. Last May we planned a wedding that didn't come to pass. A year ago this week we were trying so hard to figure out how to save our daughter, then collecting family so we could all be here to say good-bye. We planned a funeral. We made it through the hardest thing any parent can face.

It has been hard. The first couple of months were overwhelming and intensely painful. Gradually life resumes and fills our days. We go from the deep pain of acknowledging the loss of a beautiful, talented and funny young woman, to accepting that she really isn't here anymore. We become accustomed to that, and we learn to think of her less often, but we don't stop thinking of her.

We wonder how life will go on without her in our everyday lives.

We wonder what Liz would say about some event - what clever or amusing comment she'd make, or what funny face she'd put on for a picture. We think of the things she would like to do, like swimming, four wheeling, singing, drawing, coloring pictures on the luminaries bags at Christmas, decorating cookies with frosting, making lasagne, seeing plays or acting in them. We go to a wedding and wish we had done that too. We gather for a family event, and realize that yes, all of our children are here, even though we know there should be more, and we realize this is the new normal, and will be for a long time.

We see seasons come and go, and remember her in a swimsuit, or dressed for school, or laughing while throwing snowballs or tubing down a steep hill, or planting new flowers in the yard. We think of her enjoying her senses by smelling an armful of peonies, or basking in the sun, or playing with Bo, or tickling her dad mercilessly and cackling the whole time.

We know her. We give thanks for her light in our lives. We love her, and we remember.

And we take great comfort in knowing she still lives, and we will see her again. We know God loves us and has a plan for us. We will be together again as a family, because we are sealed eternally.