Ailsa has reverted to using a sippy cup. Dora dances on the outside. So cheerful company how can that compare to a plain colored cup? The added benefit is it can go anywhere and inevitably it gets left out, hidden in some place only a four year old would place it. When she was two they would be abandoned in plain sight. Now they find their ways into secret hiding spots—and in time become sour surprises for me, the dishwasher on duty. When they are temporarily left out a loud cry occurs when Ailsa sips—she in her innocence to milk’s temperamental nature doesn’t sniff first, perhaps a tentative taste—she gulps—“Mommy, my milk is yucky!” My favorite is when she not only shows me the offending cup but gives me the accompanying face, as though I cannot understand the scream of explanation. Yet the pattern continues. As once again I poured nearly full cup of offending (and may I add organic thus overpriced, yet yummy) milk down the drain—the irony of time struck me. I am told time heals. I wonder does time always heal? Milk sours quickly left out on a hot summer day, yet the same milk stays cool and refreshing in a different environment. Does one always lead to two? Does time always turn to the sour or bitter? Must I be bitter? Honey found in Egyptian tombs is still sweet, still good. Some seasonings lose flavor, others become more intense.
I am given a lot of advice, some I laugh at, some I try to laugh at and others I smile at their ignorance. Funny how those who have not followed our story, not been here to be apart of it, or have never lost a child-- now feel free to tell me how I should feel about the events. I am often told to be happy. What? How many grieving moms have you seen laugh as much as I? I am told how lucky I am to not have to be doing the whole baby thing again? Really, I would be more than happy to be doing the baby thing, changing diapers, even potty training (which is a bane to motherhood in my opinion) because with all the sleepless nights, the patience trying—comes the slobbery smiles I never got to see… and the list goes on. But why list them... why torment myself at what her body could not do? I had the blessing of the time we had. I can remember her eyes, her hand holding my finger. There were hard times, yes, but sacred times I cherish, I hold…they are all a part of my Katelynn. They who don’t know tell me in time I will forget the pain. Really? Do you forget? The time we have done without Katelynn is longer than the time we had her—she would turn six months today. I look at other babies; I am surrounded by them. At times I feel like a sippy cup of bitter milk left out, and other times I feel like honey, time sweetening what I had. And as the milk is found tucked away in secret hiding places by Ailsa, I too try to tuck my sadness in a creative place. Remember, the same milk can stay refreshing in a different environment. When pain grips me, I just have to get out of the heat, pour what doesn’t work down the drain and put myself in a place of peace, love, and friendship. The quickest route to this is through prayer. So to those you who may be standing near when someone tells me to cheer up when I am laughing, or you hear them tell me how lucky I am… Don’t be surprised if while laughing I smack them and walk away for a better environment, you are welcome to come join me—just be prepared to laugh with me.
Time can be our enemy or our friend depending on the environment we place ourselves. I am a mom and to me that means bitterness is not an option. How could I bring that example around ANY of my children? Don’t they all deserve the best of me for the time we have?

Today walking back from picking up Ailsa at her pre-school the kids raced ahead on their scooters totally concentrated in their enthusiasm of kicking their leg back to pick up speed—so perfect. Today I silently mourn a mile marker, yet today, in the simplicity of their childhood, is just another day. I am so happy that they don’t share the concerns I have now. The concerns I had of my childhood would be alien to them. I brushed my hand over the tall grasses, theses same grasses I hunted out to hide me. I used to imagine building a life among them, to hide, to disappear. They see those grasses as something to wack. The idea of hiding from life, even with all that has happened, is foreign to them—I marvel at their resilience. I recognized that it has been some time since one of my children has cried themselves to sleep—tears, yes, but the despair has passed. We each mark today in a different way. I am glad they race ahead, kicking their feet up with excitement. I note to myself, I am walking, they can run. Katelynn may not be awaiting her heart surgery, as we hoped, and as much as I hurt from missing her—all is as it should be, and we are okay. We are so very blessed.