I suppose this is how it’s supposed to work. First, we give birth and then we give wings. But it wasn’t supposed to happen this fast.

It was only yesterday, or maybe the day before, I stumbled up the stairs in sobbing tears because the baby I had just placed in the crib hadn’t burped. I knew I had failed as a Momma. I also knew she would be dead in the morning.

No. I’m not morbid much.

The happy news is she was very much alive the next morning. And this morning.

It’s not as if I didn’t know this day was coming. But until this morning dawned a cloudy, dreary, hopeless morning it was always some time out there in the far distant future. I could have a thought of it and think, “yes. It will happen but not today. Today we can laugh, joke, be silly, and drink our weight in coffee. We can binge watch NCIS, Simon and Simon, or whatever tickles our fancy. We can run errands or not.”

Now the day has come and I’m speeding down the interstate after leaving her in the big city. The big city of my birth but not my childhood, adolescence, or adulthood.

I lived the vast majority of my life without her, but for the life of me I can’t remember how. Life is supposed to,  and I’m sure it will, go on like normal. Tomorrow I’ll get up and go to the office. And then home. But it won’t be the same. It will be different. It will be hard, but it will never be the same.

I wonder still if I taught enough. Shared Jesus enough. Laughed enough. Did we live enough? Did we love enough?  Was there more that should have been said, more that should have been done?

And I’m writing all of this on my phone. And I hate to type on it.