Hand me downs
I miss writing here. There’s a lot I wrote in this space and a lot I think I didn’t. Some of the “didn’t’s” were because I was afraid of putting something there, out loud, even if just in writing that might make it true. One of those things I have recently thought about as I was getting Taylor’s old hand me downs out of our attic for our Charlotte to wear this summer. I remember a time where I put Taylor’s clothes aside and I would cry. Privately, up in our attic space we have. I cried to God that if I only could have one prayer answered, could it be that Charlotte would wear these one day? Because then that would mean she is 8. It meant she got to grow up. Hand me downs were so hard for me. It made me face a fear that she wouldn’t get to wear them. That we could lose her. That I would be faced with a day of seeing them again only to donate them to another child who gets to live. And now fast forward to today. There are parents facing that reality. And we didn’t. Her story still being