The Lingering

There are moments that take your breathe away, and moments that linger long and hard…just waiting for you to breathe again and suck air from gasping lungs. I count moments today.

My first vague memory of being swaddled in my grandma’s arms as an infant.

Sitting on the counter as a toddler, my curls all crazy, picking the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charm cereal box.

Watching my parents kiss.

My first clear memory of a funeral. And it was for an infant. The baby sibling of one of my best friends. The casket was open, and I will never forget the etchings of that white face nor the screams of my friend’s grief.

Building forts in the woods. Climbing trees. Carving my name and the year into the same oak outside my parents’ porch year after year.

Sharing the Gospel in Russia. Moldova. Brownsville, TX. Scotland. Mexico. 

Watching my parents drive away from the college hall’s steps that I was melting into. 

Falling in love with David. Moment by moment. 

Our first kiss. Our first night. Our first tears. Our first tiny little basement apartment. 

Losing Sweet Pea and Mira at about six weeks pregnant each time. Curling on the floor. Weeping. Bleeding. Breaking. Healing. 

Hearing Abigail’s heartbeat, tears running down my cheeks and heart. Boom. Boom. Boom.



To each there is a season.


“I keep catching myself wondering what Kaylee is doing in Heaven right now. What is she seeing? What is she experiencing?” David spoke lowly in the car, the dark sky the backdrop for his musings. “It makes it all the more real.” He murmured in my ear so many hours later in bed, “There is nothing certain, but it makes you want to treasure each moment.”





The ones that take your breathe away and the ones that wait around long and hard.

And, so David holds me as we celebrate the first shadows of a grey and pink nursery. The white crib and the pink dresser that David so carefully refinished and painted for me. The craft store purchases that will hopefully turn into something beautiful. White picture frames. Pink and aqua accents. Flowers and bows. Baby sheets.

We stand on still-cement floors and dream. Of a little girl. Her soon-to-be first breathe. Her moments.

Life is too precious to not linger.

Really, it’s our only glimpse into Kaylee’s heavenly reality. This lingering. This treasuring. These moments.


To read of Kaylee’s death, please click here.

3 thoughts on “The Lingering

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  1. You are lovely and hurt and I’m grateful for your words. Living without my son…I am not doing so well. Everything aches and I’m tired. Then you write from peace and I know it exists; somewhere, there must be peace.

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