Once in a while, I am hit with how much of Hannah's life we are missing out on. Jack is downstairs cleaning his room right now and I just heard him say her name. And then I imagined how we'd be hearing her name if she were here. "Hannah just rolled over!" "Mom, Hannah needs a new diaper." "Hey, I think Hannah just woke up." She should have joined us in March, so she'd be about six months right now. We'd be starting solid food. We'd be making her laugh. She'd be blowing raspberries and developing a distinct personality.
Sometimes I feel like I'm doing really well. And then sometimes I feel like this post happened a lifetime ago. I'm mad that I don't get to use her name to talk to her on a daily basis. And then my iTunes plays Steven Curtis Chapman's "Not Home Yet" and I remember that life on this earth is such a blip on the screen compared to what waits for us when we die.
But it still sucks sometimes.