Little pieces of comfort and grief

I think it's impossible to think about my life without thinking about my boys. What would it have been like to have those two little brothers running the show around here? Where would we have put them? This year would have been John's first year in T-ball. Drew would go to story hour at the library.

And things would be a lot different.

I only have those glimpses into the might-have-been every so often. And every so often, I also think about my future spiritual self in the context of my lost boys. When I die, will they be waiting for me? Will I see them? What will they look like - babies? Men? Little boys? Will they have been with my grandmother, waiting for me to join them? Will they know me? Will they love me?

I made it almost all the way through this article in the New York Times about the dreams of dying people. What do they mean? What do they predict?

And then there was this bit: An older woman cradled an invisible infant as she lay in bed. (Her husband told researchers it was the couple’s first child, who had been stillborn.)

I love my life. I love my husband and my job and all my children - living and dead. I want to live to see every moment we create together.

And sometimes, in the dark, in the sun, at the cemetery, in the grocery line, at a red light...I can't wait to hold my little boys again, to see their faces and run my fingers through their soft hair, to kiss their little cheeks.

The article is amazing. Read it here: http://nyti.ms/1P3IF2g