Where Will She Sit?

I have had this continuous "typo" that happens to me... Every time I try to write Rachel Alice (including this time!) I always type Rachel Alive instead.  It continues to take my breath away every time I do it.  When it happened while I was pregnant, it was my reminder that she was still with me.  Now, it's my reminder that she is with Jesus... 

We went to the cemetery while Des was at Art class.  Sam fell asleep on the way and Isaiah ran around on top of the snow (it's hard now, but going down!!) while I read the notes people had left and wrote a bit myself.  Isaiah came over and said "I remember holding Rachel." and as we left said  "I need to go say bye to Rachel" and he walked over, stood directly above her and said "goodbye Rachel" and came back.  I said goodbye from where I was and he insisted I had to go stand above her to say it.  So I did.  As we got back in the van, he asked "Where will Rachel sit in the van when she comes out of her hole?"

My heart sank.

"She's not coming out" I explained. 

My mind immediately went back to the day we buried her.  Isaiah had started getting really upset saying "I don't want to leave Rachel here" and as we tried to help him understand something that we didn't even understand ourselves, my heart broke for my little boy.  Today, I was feeling that all over again.  I couldn't save Rachel and I can't save the others from the pain of losing her.  It's my job as their mother to protect them... and I can't.

He insisted on an answer... "when will she come out of her hole?"  I answered, "she died, remember?  Her soul is with Jesus, but her body is in the ground and it's not coming out 
my tears started flowing.

Just this morning, I had been emailing with a friend, Melissa, who lost her daughter Amelia Grace to anencephaly in July.  I had just told her that I still struggle to leave Rachel there and how it hurts to picture her under the ground. And as I wrote a little note to Rachel in the journal at her grave, I said the same thing "it breaks my heart to leave you here" 
And there I sat, trying to make a 4 year old feel good about something that I don't feel good about.

I realized that he probably thought that since she is in there, the only way she would hear us is if we were right on top of her.  It's always a learning experience when you learn of how your kids interpret something.  I didn't realize that he thought she was just there temporarily.  I mean, I guess technically she is.  But that's nothing we'll see this side of heaven.  He apparently thinks that one day we'll go there and drive home with her.  How I wish it were so.

When I was pregnant with Rachel, I used to talk to her a lot in the shower.  It was my daily routine.  Probably because it's the only time (usually) that I don't have kids requesting something from me.  I told her all the things I wanted her to know in the shower... how much I loved her, how amazing she was and the new things that had happened because of her, how proud I am to be her mom, how great her Daddy and sister & brothers are... even how to exfoliate and shave :o) Girls need to know these things...

Ironically, when I got in the shower this morning before we went to the cemetery, I "accidentally" started talking to her.  I think it happened out of my old habit, but that really is the first time I have talked to her when I wasn't standing above her grave.  I guess I have the same struggle Isaiah does...I think she's in there and I want her to come out.  Telling me "she" isn't really there does nothing for the physical connection that Mamas have with their babies.  This goes against everything in me.  My daughter is in a hole in the ground...even if "she" isn't. 

sigh.  It's so hard knowing that is never going to change. 

At the end of my email to Melissa this morning, I had my blog music playing in the background and just as I wrote something about wishing Rachel would have lived longer, I heard the line in the song that was on:
"Dance for Jesus...and live!"

She's not there.  She's alive with Jesus... Dancing eternally in His love.  That's better than riding in the van with us....for her.  But selfishly, I want to strap her in her car seat and take her to our home.