There Is A Difference

My cousin Erin told me about a song today...

She said she thought of me and Ethan when she heard it on the radio the other day.

It is about someone dying young, and one of the lyrics is:

"I've had just enough time."

It made me think of something I know to be true, but still need to be reminded of often.

Ethan doesn't feel like his life here was cut short, even though it was.

He doesn't look at it like that, even though we do.

He walks and talks with Jesus... looks in the face of the One Who made him... knows nothing but joy...

And can't wait to show me around Heaven.

Linda, a dear friend of ours (in fact, her husband is the friend who preached Ethan's Memorial Service), explained this to me:

Ethan does not miss me... he waits with great expectation for me to join him.

There is a difference.

And it is one I am so grateful for.

I am Ethan's Mama... I can't bear to think of him missing me, because that means he is not completely whole and happy.

Missing someone involves longing and sorrow...

No, I don't want him to miss me.

I thank my God Ethan feels no sorrow. And longs for nothing.

He is, as my sweet friend Linda says, "safe in God's arms".

He is completely whole and happy... he lacks nothing.

But he still looks forward to the day his Mama joins him.

He doesn't miss me--- he waits for me!

I needed this today, Erin. I love you, Cousin.

And I love you, Linda!

It's Dedication Day!

The Ethan Carter Lane Memorial Nursery was dedicated this morning!

Pictures coming soon! :)

Thank you to all who gave to his memorial fund... words are not enough!

Oh, how I can't wait to post all the details!

The Grace Of God

I feel like I am becoming silent on here...

sometimes there are long stretches between my posts, and so many times I can't muster any thoughts to share.

I guess I am afraid I am "wearing people out" with my grief.

I know for others it might seem like Ethan has been gone for a while...

But, to us, it doesn't feel that way.

And, honestly, it doesn't matter, anyway.

We are approaching nine months since he went to be with Jesus...

and it just doesn't matter.

Nine months or nineteen years...

he's still our son.

And it is impossible to describe the pain.

My husband and I talked last night about how we are experiencing the grace of God in a way we never, ever wanted to...

and it's so true.

I am breathing, I am functioning...

I am not accomplishing what I need to on any given day by any means... but I am alive.

And that, I promise you, is because of the grace of God.

He even gives me the ability to laugh...

and although many times I feel guilty about that, I am trying to recognize it for what it is:

One of God's ways of making me able to bear the unbearable pain of being without my son.

You see, He knows I can only handle so much without simply collapsing entirely under the strain... and so He gives me little reprieves...

I am able to laugh at jokes and to enjoy being with people...

though I often cry my eyes out as soon as I am alone.

The pain, after all, never goes away.

Sometimes it has to get shoved down, stuffed down...

but it is there.

I am so thankful for the many people who have prayed for us and kept our names before the Father.

We are living proof that He hears you!

Silent

It has been two weeks since my last post...

Between the hustle and bustle of the season and the emotional roller coaster it brought, I have been silent.

We spent Christmas in Florida with our families, and I did not bring my laptop or use any computer at all while we were there...

Maybe I needed the silence.

Sometimes it feels pointless to try to write anything, because nothing explains things adequately.

But, then I am reminded how much I want the world to know my baby boy...

How I long to share how amazing he is and how I love to talk about him.

How I feel like this is a simple way to honor him.

I am grateful for family and friends that remembered and honored him this Christmas season, and I can't wait to share some special things that were done for him and us.

I hope your Christmas was also filled with love, and that you were keenly aware of the Baby who came and changed everything.

:)

Six Months Later...

How are we doing six months after holding our precious Ethan for the last time?

Still taking it one day (or hour or second!) at a time.

There are many things I have learned over the last six months. Things I thought to be true, and now know are true.

One of them is that time DOES NOT heal all wounds.

Honestly, I hate the phrase that says it does.

If you have lost a child, you probably hate it, too.

And if you haven't, please try to understand... or at least trust that I know what I'm talking about.

Time DOES NOT heal the wound of burying your child...

of not being able to cuddle him, kiss him, tell him "I love you" or watch him grow...

of watching his Sissy alone when she should have him with her...

of waking up every morning without him, and trying to sleep knowing he won't be there the next morning, either...

Time does not heal the countless, countless, countless wounds of living without him.

Pure and simple.

Josh, Emily and I will always grieve as those who have hope... but, we will always grieve.

I feel like some of the people who love us are waiting for us to "get back to normal"... to "return to our old selves"...

Because they love us.

But, it is never going to happen.

You don't bury your child and remain the same.

My husband and I became different people on June 4, 2010.

Better people, I believe.

Ethan changed us for the better when he was alive... continues to change us for the better now... and will change us for the better forever.

My husband and I love each other more fiercely.

We know what is important in life... and what isn't.

We know the hand of God like we never have before.

We depend on Him for every breath... because there is no breathing otherwise.

There is no doing our relationship with God "halfway". We cannot survive on mediocrity. We need all of Him.

We are better parents. We know that just because we hold Emily in our arms today doesn't mean we will get to hold her in our arms tomorrow.

We know unimaginable sorrow so profoundly... and know God will use that sorrow for His Kingdom and for the good of others.

Our Ethan's life has already had an eternal impact--- and it's only been six months.

No, we will never be the same.

Our Ethan is too special for that.

Thank you, Lord.

And thank you to those who love us... for doing so.

Loving Us Well

Josh, Emily and I want to say thank you...

Thank you to our friends, family, church family, and medical professionals for loving us so well...

Thank you for your acts of kindness...

Your gifts in memory and honor of our sweet Ethan...

Your expertise...

Your tenderness...

Your patience...

Your tears...

Your faith in Our God...

and for crying out to Him on our behalf.

You are vessels of God's grace to us... His comfort to us in human form... and representatives of His love.

We are grateful for you... and we know Ethan is glad his Mama, Daddy and Sissy have so many people who love them.

We love you, too!