Healing

As the song says, I am being held. By love and prayers and really tight hugs.
I am healing, but I am not, as someone told me, "amazing". You might like to know that I too screamed at God in the night. Those words that came when I could not form any others, when anger was my first and all encompassing emotion. But as I came to the moment when my baby slipped away I felt the grace of God melt all of that anger into a sad acceptance. I don't know how He did it, but I know it wasn't me. He gives life, and He takes it, and he caresses my rage into gentle tears. He takes my chin in his hand and gently turns my head.
My girls are beautiful. They are happy and full of the promise of spring. They are muddy and sunkissed and stomping the last pile of snow, barefoot in bikinis. They are giggling in the bath and ask "Mom, what is that animal with a squarish nose that likes to go in the water sometimes, but lives on land? It's a something-bara". "A capybara.", I said. "Yes! We are capybaras and we have to wash our fur now." They are playing baseball and floating boats and drawing fairies and birds. All is right with girlhood at this glorious moment of spring. This, too, holds me.