Oh death, where is your sting?

"Mom, is spring almost here? All the snow is melting," my oldest asks.

I pour the milk and my mind is already flying ahead, planning errands for today and answer, absentmindedly, "Why yes, spring is next month. Although the snow will be gone soon, spring doesn't officially get here until next month."

"Spring means flowers," he states matter-of-factly.

I nod my head, finding food for his lunch and stuffing his lunch box.

"We should plant some flowers, and then when the flowers come up, we can pick some..."

My heart stops. Time stands still. In a moment, I am brought back to that morning, almost 6 years ago, as I held my daughter, looked at her tiny hands, and asked God not to do this thing.

"...flowers and bring them to my sister." He smiles, with such innocence, and returns to eating his cereal.

Pain shoots through my heart and the cracks appear once again. Most days I am fine, feel fine, don't give much thought to my babies in heaven.

And then one of my boys will mention her, or ask a question, and it all comes rushing back, and I've never left. But it isn't their words that bring pain...the pain is already there.

And like a giant lake, walled up behind a concrete dam, every thought of her, every time I hear her name passed through another's lips, allows another crack to appear and let the water, the pain, pass through me.

And it's okay.

I am so glad we told our boys about Alaina.

One of the many decisions to be made after losing a child, is how to tell the subsequent children. Or to tell them at all?

But there is no shame in losing a child. Shame is for dark, dirty secrets, and the author is Satan, and there is no place for shame in a child of God.

"God is light; in Him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with Him yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth." John the Apostle.

Hiding brings darkness, but openness allows the light to come in, to shine on the hurting places.

Her life is in the open, and our boys can talk about her, ask questions without fear of shame or reprisal. They talk about going to heaven and playing with her. And they know death. They know heaven. They ask me if I cried. Yes, I say simply. I cried for a long time. They wrap their arms around me, compassionate smiles across their faces, and then run off to play.

We have so much to learn from them. "let the children come to me, for such is the kingdom of heaven" -Jesus

Death, and pain, is not something to be feared, to be ashamed of, to hide.

How can we ask questions, not run away, and then hug and hold the person in pain? To comfort them, walk with them? To validate their pain without pat cliches? Then later on, remember that life is more than pain, more than death. We need to remind ourselves, that

Life is about LIVING.