Never be afraid to sit awhile and think. –Lorraine Hansberry
The day came and passed. I had marked the date in my mental calendar, but when it finally arrived I forgot to acknowledge it. Today it came to mind. Belated. It’s the thought that counts I have been consoled many times. So, maybe my recollection was postponed a few days. Today ends the delay. I remembered.
On December 27th, Madelynn turned the exact same age Jordan was on the day Shawn died. I waited for this date to occur, so that I could compare notes of trauma with observations of sanity. At the time of Shawn’s death everyone lost their age. I still hesitate when someone asks me how old I am.
Without conscious decision, I began to classify my children by character and traits rather than numbers and chronological interpretations. Jordan was Shawn’s son and Maddi his daughter. Jordan is inquisitive and bright. Maddi is affectionate and determined. They bear his image. Numbers do not matter. How can one quantify all the love Jordan held and knew from his father in 20 detailed months? How can one measure a life by years and days? Five fleeting months is my calculation of the affection Maddi has bundled up inside of her as a treasure from her daddy. Exactly 150 days. I forced myself to count.
She was a baby. She still is a baby. Jordan was just a baby. How does one interpret loss for their babies? With all the numbers combined, I would still beg for more time. Time cannot be my scale for measuring. Instead, for my children I will gauge the value placed inside an age by the devotion, dedication and depth of love their father carried for them both. This is how I will remember how old they were; old enough to be deeply loved.
