Today George Mason would be 5 months old. He would sitting and laughing and starting to find his voice. He would reacting and interacting with his big sister. He would probably be learning to have a healthy fear of the toddler monster he adores so much. He would be settling into a routine and maybe even letting his mama sleep for a few consecutive hours each night. He would be perfect. He is perfect. In fact, he is in the one place that where perfection is actually possible. Oh how I wish that were different, but oh how glad I am that our God makes such assurance for that precious little boy's salvation. 

I have been busy today. Two of George Mason's little peers were baptized this Sunday and it was so hard. It was so full of joy and excitement and utter desolation and intense grief. My son should have been up in the front of the church with those beautiful little girls. He should've been in my arms as the pastor sprinkled his head and Adam and I promised to raise him in our faith; joining in the covenant family. Sunday was hard. I cried ugly tears for the first time in while. So with yesterday being so close to the anniversary of his day, I was worried that today would be rough. I didn't want to think about today. I didn't want to face 5 months without that adorable and perfect little boy. Thankfully, I was busy. I was wrapped up in construction. My baby sister is here and Audrey Nole had a glorious toddler day. It was a regular, but not so regular, Monday. 

Two years ago we bought a fixer upper. It was a disaster and it was a perfect distraction during the worst of the grief of losing my mom. It is the only home George Mason ever knew. It's the home where I woke up every morning and went to bed every night during those 9 months of carrying him. It's the place where we built a nursery that never fulfilled its destiny. It's the place that has a view of the home where my mama took her last breaths. It's a home full of Audrey's firsts, George's should have beens, and our blood, sweat, and tears in making it our own sanctuary in this city that I mostly hate. Today, we finished it. We closed the chapter on this fixer upper and have made the decision to move on. Today, I was busy with the final details and the last minute, tedious, no one will ever notice, kinds of things that make a house beautiful. Today was long and hard. Not just because I miss my son, but because even though I know that moving on from this place is good and healthy it still hurts just a little bit. Because for every bad memory or moment of ugly cry grief, there is an equally joyful, Audrey's first steps kind of moment. 

I'm thankful for this house. I'm thankful for the distraction it provided during two of the most intense seasons of my life. I'm thankful for the work of grief that's been done here and the freedom we have to leave that behind and move on to what is next. I know that in the grand scheme of things a house seems so insignificant, but when it's part of this story cannot be denied, it's something to be aware of and to be conscious to be thankful for. 

I miss my son. I miss him today and everyday. And even though today was busy and full, it wasn't without quiet moments of reflection. Moments to reminisce over George Mason's tiny features. Moments to recall details from his day and the many days before and after. I hate that my son isn't here. I wrestle with God about that a lot. But today, July 10, five months since his day, I'm more thankful than ever for his precious life and the abundant joy I have from being his mama. Thank you Jesus for that sweet baby boy. Thank you Jesus for my precious daughter. Thank you Jesus for my strong and faithful husband. Thank you Jesus for my baby sister. Thank you Jesus for this home. Thank you Jesus for all of the pieces of my story that lead to today. That shaped my world view. That pointed me toward you again and again. That allow me to wake up each day and be the person you created me to be. 

Sing praises to the LORD, O you his saints, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning. -Psalm 30:4-5