Wishing I Could Hold You Again...

At Morgan's birthday party Friday night there was a little boy just a little smaller than Lynda was when she became our foster daughter.  He had the very white blond hair and although he wasn't two yet, he was about her size.

I watched him as he played and as he ran toward his mama.  As he walked away toward the bouncy house he looked so much like the little girl I chased around the house so many years ago.

I watched him play pee pie around his mama's legs as he was sure he was hidden and he would giggle and ask to play again. And then he was off again.  Running and playing.

I found myself watching him as his little body transformed before my eyes into the memory of my little girl doing the same things.  I stood mesmerized and was not prepared when the memories flooded my heart and the tears began to fill my eyes and stream down my face.

That's the way grief is.  It hides and hibernates and we think it's "put away" for a season because after all, it has been five months now.  Holding and loving on my six grandchildren and spending time with their parents during Christmas holidays was the best thing this side of heaven. 

God is so good to me.  His love is more than enough.