choice

I'm writing two books right now: a memoir and a shorter grief guide - if you will, best term I've come up with.  I'm closing in on the grief guide, it will be available at the end of the summer (!!) and as I finish the last few pages tonight I can see, as if it's painted on canvas before me, how far I've come.


This afternoon I spoke with someone at the agency conducting the current investigation into Charlotte's birth.  I wanted a bare bones outline of what was going down and why, but all I got was bureaucracy and we're not telling you a darn thing, you can request the documents in full when our investigation is over.  I did learn they will investigate every claim that comes to them even if the matter has already been looked into, so these investigations could go on for years.


After the phone call I went to the shelf where we keep files, searched out the fat one with 'C, Records,' scrawled across the top, pulled it from its slot, and balanced it on the palms of my hands.  I flipped it open, scanned through the autopsy report.  Hesitated as I read, "1/2 inch fine brown hair," then closed it and replaced it gently without reading the other documents.


Again, it's a choice.  Go back, revisit the hurt, search for a truth that cannot be found, or continue on.  Trust in Jesus.  Look at that big canvas stretched before me and know I may not be where I expected or hoped to be, but I've come far, and I'm alive, and I no longer want to die just so I can be with her.

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