It has been about seven weeks since my sweet grandbaby, Azalea, passed unexpectedly from this life. (Read more)

It still seems so strange and foreign to write or even speak those words. Seven weeks seem like an eternity without her and yet, it also seems like an instant since we laid her precious body to rest. The pain is still raw and aching. Heaven lifts and carries us over the bumpy spots. Kind friends and family members continue to watch over us and to bring us peace and comfort… and I’m grateful.

I have found that when a loved one passes, it’s a time when you can be very close to the veil that separates you from your departed loved ones. It’s so important to take some time to be still and seek for understanding from God.  You may hear internal whisperings, feel unseen arms around you or catch glimpses of your dear one in your mind’s eye. Or you may just feel inspiration come to your mind and peace come to your soul. It’s different for everyone.

As profound and seemingly unforgettable as these experiences are, it’s so important to write them down and capture them. Believe me, when I tell you, you’ll forget most of them if you don’t. I know this because I find myself constantly being surprised by the things I read in my journal. These heavenly experiences will be given to bless and comfort you during these tough trials but they can also help you in the coming months and years, as you continue to mourn and miss your loved one.

The other day, I was reading back through my journal and was reminded of some precious things that would have been lost to me, if I hadn’t followed the prompting to write them down.

It was early in the morning after our sweet Azalea passed. I couldn’t sleep, so I began to write.

August 23, 2019, 4:00 a.m.

My heart hurts so much! I miss my darling baby Azalea so greatly. I miss all the future things we would have done together.

It was such a painful yet remarkable day yesterday to watch my sweet Krista and her Tyler. They moved through the day with so much grace and faith.

They never allowed themselves to slip into self-pity or pointless questioning. Those of us who love them most knew we must follow suit. They willingly, albeit painfully, stepped into God’s plan for them and so must we.

It was beautiful to watch them uplift and support each other during all those harrowing hours of heartbreak. “She’s safe,” they kept reminding each other, whenever one or the other had an outpouring of grief.  They turned what was undoubtedly the most sorrowful day of their lives into a sacred day of seeking God’s will and savoring the peace that came through his Holy Spirit. I marveled. I shall never forget it.

I don’t know what future days, weeks and months will bring for them in this grieving process, but for now, they are doing all they can to allow the love of the Savior to fill their hearts and calm their minds.

I told Tyler and Krista when I arrived yesterday, “These will be the hardest days of your life, but also the most beautiful and miraculous. The veil will be very thin for you and you’ll want to write down everything so you can remember.” I remember this from when Dad died.

My heart is quite broken over losing our precious Azalea. And yet, I feel deep within my soul that this was her plan from the beginning. She was ours, and yet, she was never really ours, for she belonged to God and to his higher realm.

Last night, I realized I keep using the words, “and yet”. There are so many ways to use that phrase in a situation like this.

She was ours, and yet, she belonged to God.

We are mourning, and yet, we feel peace.

She has died, and yet, we feel her with us.

We wish she were here, and yet, we know this was part of her plan.

I guess it’s like acknowledging that there are things of a higher nature going on here.

(As I kept writing, I began to feel sort of a poem coming into my mind. This is all unedited and simply the feelings that came from my heart.)

Unfettered

She came into this world, quiet as a summer breeze, our lovely Azalea June.

Eight weeks later, she slipped away as peacefully as she’d come.

And oh, how we all adored her!

We called her our sweet angel baby-

Never dreaming that all too soon, she would be just that: Our angel.

Turn back the hands of time, O Lord. Let me snuggle that precious bundle one more time.

Let me gaze into those crystal blue eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

Allow me to savor the deliciousness of her scent or glimpse that glorious smile-

that first dimpled at the corner of her mouth and then traveled up to her twinkling eyes.

Oh, the joy those loving expressions brought.

The twinkling eyes have closed for now. And that sweet, dimpled mouth lies silent-

for she has laid down this tabernacle of clay for a while and flies free and unfettered by mortal cares.

She has gone, and yet she is with us.

She has died… and still, she lives.

We are parted… but soon, shall ne’er be parted again.

I keep thinking of one of my favorite poems by Wordsworth (a far more worthy poet than myself):

I arrived just three minutes after Azalea’s birth and just five hours after her death. But I witnessed those “trailing clouds of glory” that she brought with her and then left behind.

She was gone from heaven for just a few minutes in God’s time, but in those few minutes – those eight earthly weeks – she lived out her short lifetime and has touched hundreds of people already. I sense she is pleased.

I think I can hear her sweet, little voice in my mind: “Be happy, Grammy. Don’t be gloomy… It’s okay to cry and to miss me, but I want you to be happy… I’m happy where I am… I’m where I belong now. I’m home.”

The veil is so thin today. We are surrounded by loving heavenly beings. It has never been more apparent. Heaven is close at hand. We will never be the same again… but it will be okay.