Milk and Lost Things

It was a normal morning - well, at least by this stage of life’s definition of “normal.”  This stage, is that of life with a newborn, and a toddler, and daylight savings time. It is true, there is no ‘gaining’ of an hour when it comes to changing clocks and expecting children to change along with it. 

Still, it was quiet in that early morning hour, as my husband had already left for work, and the baby had just been fed, and our two and a half year old had not yet declared from her room, “the sun is up mommy!”

No, it was still dark.  The only light was from a plug-in night light, and now from the fridge as I opened the door to get the milk. I wanted to add just a little bit to my coffee - which is of course always more milk and cream than actual coffee.

The expiration date, across the top of the plastic carton, caught me off guard.

My eyes filled with water, as I all of the sudden stood there trying to remember if I was getting the milk out or putting it back. The date seemed big. It felt heavy. It didn’t seem like it should be on a milk carton, or really in existence at all, anywhere. But there it was.

Nov 17, 2019.

It was the date (or close to), that our daughter, Promise, would have been celebrating her 1st birthday.

But that special event would not be coming.  We lost baby Promise at 22 weeks gestation (July 14, 2018).  Her due date had been November 17th.

Later, the same morning, I still couldn’t keep back the tears. My two and a half year old daughter, Lily, asked why I was crying.  I hesitated and then tried to speak, “I’m crying because we lost Promise and I miss her.”  Lily’s confused look begs me to clarify what I mean when I say, “we lost Promise.”

“Well,” I start out, always wondering what is going to come out of my mouth when giving explanations to Lily. “You’re right, we didn’t lose Promise, as if we lost a toy.  She...well...she died..., and is with Jesus now.”

Lily looks at me for a long minute, as if the answer I gave her is literally tiptoeing from her ears, to her mind, to her heart.

Once it has settled, whether Lily actually understands, or simply has enough information for now, she returns to looking through her books.

There is a finality to the idea of death as I state the words out loud. But there is also a comfort in the image of Promise living her best life now with Jesus.

I’m not gonna lie, I will be a little bit glad when that gallon of milk doesn’t greet me every morning. But, as this month rolls on, and the memories and the heartache swarm around me, I am thankful.  I’m thankful for my toddler’s curiosity that demands truth and reason which move me from the reality of earthly death, and propel me forward the heavenly reality of life and hope.