Well, it’s just four sleeps until we pick up our wandering daughter from the airport. She’s had an amazing time and we can’t wait to hear all about it 🙂 The eight week wait will be over.

Whilst I am just about jumping out of my skin with excitement, there is a tinge of sadness. As I make a list of her favourite food to buy, clean the house and ensure her bedroom is neat and tidy, fold and put away any stray items of her clothing, I can’t help but think what a privilege it is to be welcoming her home. I’m acutely aware that for some, the wait is never over.

I said in a previous post that seeing her off at the airport was a hard thing to do, and it was. But it wasn’t the hardest thing to do as a parent, not by a long shot.

There are parents right now, right this very minute, having to decide on the order of a funeral service; who are folding and putting away clothes for the last time; who are tidying bedrooms that will never be messy again; who are bypassing favourite food at the supermarket because there’s no-one to buy it for.

So as I bustle about preparing, inside I weep. My heart breaks and I pray I will never have to face the complete awfulness of having a child taken too soon from this life.

And instead of the loss I know others are dealing with tainting this homecoming, I’m going to squeeze that girl of mine so tight. I’m going to breathe in the scent of her and hold her face in my hands. I’m going to soak up the sight of her and thank God for every second that I can. That He has deemed it right for her to be home with us instead of home with Him.

And I’m going to bow my head in sheer thankfulness and gratitude. It’s the least I can do to honour those mothers who would give anything to be in my shoes.