Maybe it was for that reason that I spent a lot of time in a rocking chair after Rip died.
It was an old rocking chair of my great-grandmother’s that my parents had recovered while I was in the hospital, a bright apple green that went perfectly in the nursery that was not to be and yet still was. All those months after Rip and before the arrival of Gracie, I spent countless hours in that rocking chair- rocking my pain and wondering if there would ever be anything other than pain to rock.
Praying and rocking and vivid apple green are things that flash to my mind when I think about this time in my life.
This weekend, I put Sam down and was on my way to do the same for Gracie, when I heard him calling out. Taking her with me, we all fell into the big rocker together and I felt the weight of their bodies as they drifted off to sleep.
Not everything in life wraps itself in a pretty little bow, and this story doesn’t either, but in that gentle back and forth motion with two chests rising and falling in time I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so thankful.