A few years back, she got to be first. I've never been happy about this one on any level. Little sisters aren't supposed to go first . . . especially when it entails funerals and cemetary markers. And no matter how much time passes, I hurt for my niece and nephew who really have no idea how wonderful their mom was. I hurt for my parents who have to walk by her bedroom and drive by her gravesite every day. I hurt for me because I still miss her so much. Weeping is an understatement of the occurrence going on at my desk as I type this through blurry eyes.
My consolation is this. She got to be first . . . to see God. (You know, I always kind of thought that "Jesus wept" verse was more Jesus crying, not so much because of the hurt and mourning going on around him, but because he knew where he was bringing Lazarus back from.) I certainly don't have a grasp on what heaven is like, but I like to think Stacey mothers on every baby who didn't make it long in this life. I like to imagine her talking to Sarah about what it was like to be pregnant at 90. I like to think she has conversations with Peter and John and Esther and Job. That's extremely cool. And the joy that I KNOW I will be with her again makes days like today endurable. Stacey Leigh, I love you . . . Happy Birthday.