Another Anniversary

On February 24th we marked another Sam-Day: the sixth anniversary since our first baby, Sam, was born. I have been surprised by how peaceful I've felt about this anniversary this year. Last year was incredibly difficult for me for some reason, perhaps because five years seemed like such a milestone, and for whatever reason I found myself obsessing about all of the "firsts" five-year-olds enjoy.

This year has been different. I can't say we haven't had our share of stresses over the past month or two, but when I thought about Sam I felt almost nothing but peace. Clara is old enough to start realizing that Sam was a real person, and that he's a real part of our family. I don't think any three-year-old can really conceptualize death and eternity, but she feels very certain that Sam lives with Jesus and is her brother. She has remarked several times over the last month that she's excited for when Sam can come down from the clouds with Jesus and do fun things with her. She talks about the jokes she'll tell him and that he will laugh at all of them. He sounds like an ideal older brother, other than that in her mind he is the tiny newborn she's seen in the pictures. But I'm glad she can start understanding him. I hope that she can come to know him, in some small way, if only in the way that we know him: that he is a pure, special spirit who is a constant source of inspiration and motivation to live our lives the way we know we should.

Sometimes, when I think too much or too hard about Sam, I can't help but cry or feel sad. He is our first baby, and we had so, so little time with him. As I explained to Jeremy, sometimes I think about it like if we took all of Clara's life or all of Jonathan's life and erased it back to the day they were born. How much we would miss! How little we would know about how them and how they have enriched our lives! How we would miss their laugther and their warmth! Knowing each of my subsequent children as well as I do, sometimes my mother heart aches for Sam and wishes I could have him and know him as well.

But, in spite of my earthly longing, I know that God has a plan for our family, and part of that plan was for Sam to be with us for three short hours. We were meant to have him, to hold him, to love him for those moments, and then to say goodbye. We were meant not to forget him, but to look towards him and to recognize the promise of eternity he holds. Sometimes I do wish I could trade the lessons I've learned through him and just have him snuggled on my lap instead--frustrations and all--but since I cannot make that trade I'm grateful for what he taught us. He taught us, through what I cannot deny were often painful, wrenching lessons, that God is our Father, that he loves us, and that he wants us to return to live with him. He taught us that faith is real, that prayer is real, and that despite anything else we learn in our lives that there is something greater than ourselves--something untouchable by the rational mind. I'm grateful to know that I do not know everything, that I do not understand everything, but that I can have faith--and that matters a great deal.