It is 7:12 on Christmas morning and I am sitting on the couch alone. Kevin is in the kitchen puttering around, making French toast casserole and humming from time to time. Everyone else is still asleep. So I sit here and sip my coffee while looking through pictures on Facebook of friends and family celebrating this wonderful day.
Yet my heart is heavy. I long for the pitter patter of little feet. I yearn to see my babies as little ones, slowly rubbing the sleepiness out of their eyes as they approach the Christmas tree. To see the look on their faces as they begin to register the treats that lay about, near and beneath the tree.
See, if I could go back to when my babies were little, my Lauren would be here too. She would snuggle with me on the couch. She would say "Thank you mommy" for whatever prize I had surprised her with this year. She would laugh, and play, and eat and laugh some more.
It seems so surreal...this first Christmas without my daughter. Peripherally, little has changed at all. Traditions continue. The processes and procedures that we just do, because we have always done them. All of the motion moves on...never pausing, never ceasing.
And here I sit. I wish I could remain perfectly still and simply allow everything else just to go on around me. Can't I just be a silent observer this year? Isn't it ok for me to sit this one out?
No, I can't just skip Christmas. That would not be fair. Not fair to the rest of my family, or to me. I will just have to push through. I will smile and I will laugh. I have become very skilled at appearing happy on the outside while broken on the inside.
I will miss my Lauren today...I miss her everyday. I will close my eyes from time to time and picture Christmas mornings from the past, when she was here with me. I thank God for the times we had and the memories I keep forever. Happy Birthday Jesus...please give my baby girl the biggest piece of cake, she LOVES cake.
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