I knew well before I became a parent...

...that there were certain aspects of parenting that I would most definitely fail at, despite intensive desires to improve. I always knew I would have difficulty celebrating milestones. I knew I would want to keep journals of my children's first words, first steps, first foods, but that I would end up jotting a few ideas on a scrap of paper and then forget. I knew I would want to take those adorable monthly photos but just never remember to actually do it. I knew I would want to create awesome traditions for each holiday but ultimately just decorate the house and let the days pass. I always wanted to be that mom...the one that seemed to celebrate and memorialize everything. But instead I shrink away.

I think on a surface level it has to do with general busyness of life. But on a deeper level, it's a fear of failing. A fear that if I try too hard to prepare for something and the expectation isn't met, then I've wasted time and energy. If I put my efforts out there and they aren't recognized, then my pride is wounded. And if I pour myself into cherishing each moment, then I risk caring too much.

I have told myself time and again that I don't have to be that mom. That the mom God created me to be will provide just what my kids need in life. So I keep trying to celebrate the little things, and I still fail. But along the way I'm praying that my kids don't hold it against me...for too long, at least.

So here I am at another milestone. My third kid turns 6 months this weekend. I've taken those monthly photos for months 1 and 3...so maybe I'll remember to do it again on Sunday, and we'll at least have more monthly photos than my first two did! My first kid is beginning Kindergarten in the fall, and I've begun taking stock of all the milestones we can celebrate together as well as the little things he may do for the 'last time'. (I'll admit there is a still voice growing louder that tells me not to make a big deal out of any of those things...but I know I should try, right?) And tomorrow. Well, tomorrow is one of those days I wish just never had to happen.

Tomorrow is the 2nd anniversary of the day Luke died. No, it's not a milestone to celebrate. But it's one we have to honor. Yes, have to. I know that if I don't do something significant, however small, I will despise myself. If I were to let the day pass without disrupting our normal lives to set aside time to think on Luke and talk about him, more so than we usually would, then I would go to bed in despair.

And so we have tried to create a manageable tradition. We have a picnic, just our little family, at the Dell Children's Healing Garden. We bring the scrapbook my parents made for Luke and some games to play. We have lunch and just make some space to think about and talk about our second son. Last year, a couple of our friends from Dell stopped by to say hello. It was simple, and the weather cooperated. It was a sweet and quiet day.

Instead of looking forward to tomorrow as this sweet and quiet day of reflection, I'm feeling anger tonight. Frustration. I feel like tomorrow has snuck up on me in an awful way, and I wish I had more time. Truth is, I've been thinking about it for weeks. But every time the thought creeps in, I've pushed it aside. And I've kept pushing these thoughts aside until I've created this wall that seems to be holding all my emotions at arm's length. And here's where I get stuck.

Here is where my fingers slow and the words stop. Here is where I've arrived each time over the last 12 months when I've tried to sit down and form thoughts and reflect. I have this sense of impending failure. I will either write about Luke and reveal my inabilities to process my current grief or I'll write about something more light-hearted and risk sounding irreverent. And so I sit. Even in the quiet of my own home, I struggle to be honest.

But I know today has to be the last day. The dam of stifled emotions has got to be torn down. I have to try again to reflect on this life God has given us through Luke and after Luke. I have to just write again. I need to not be afraid to share the silly stories of our daily life or the serious stories of our dark days. We all live on a pendulum of joy and sorrow. I need to feel free to let mine swing again.

So to honor my second son, I aim to write again. About whatever comes to mind. Maybe I'll sit down  to share the story of how my third son was born. Because it's a pretty fun story. And it's definitely a milestone to celebrate.

Until then, to Luke...you are ever-present in our lives. Your baby brother has the bar raised high for him. Quite frankly, we all do. We love you, kid. Here's to another year that Heaven is sweeter for having you around.