The Ride

It was a warm Idaho morning. I dressed Preslee in her pink little swim suit, packed what we needed in my purse, and drove to Rexburg to meet two of my friends at the splash pad. We spent the afternoon watching our kids play in the water. Preslee, usually a fish, wouldn’t go near the water that day. She sat quietly on a park bench, repeatedly glancing at me, and then gazing off into the distance. It was as if she was deep in thought and every time I picked her up off the bench she cried. Eventually I decided to try and lighten her mood, so I grabbed her little hand and led her towards the carousel.

Preslee watched as I handed a dollar to the teenage girl in charge. We stepped onto the carousel and I could tell Preslee was intrigued, but still apprehensive. I went ahead and picked out a black and white horse, with a big pink bow on its side, the one I felt would be the best match for Preslee. Being a first time mom, I was excited and giddy, trying to coax a smile from my rather serious daughter. Eventually my excitement rubbed off and she too, became rather happy, flipping the reigns and signing horse over and over again…and then the carousel began to turn. Preslee immediately grabbed onto the horse for dear life, not sure why her mom had thrown her onto such a strange contraption. There she sat, going round and round, up and down, all the while a loud drum and unique music blared in her ears, making it difficult for her to hear me. She kept looking at me and scanning her surroundings, her facial expression read, “Why Mom? When will this stop?”

All the while, I sat to the right of her, cheering her on, reassuring her that everything was okay. Eventually her stone cold face turned into a smile, and she learned to embrace the breeze blowing her wispy blonde hair.

Today as I walked by a shelf in our home, a little pink image caught my eye.
As I stopped and stared at this framed picture, a connection was made.

Five years ago, I was forced onto my own carousel. When Preslee was found in the canal, my world began spinning. Up and down, round and round, and sometimes my grief, just like the loud music Preslee heard, takes over and makes it difficult for me to function or hear what I need to. In the beginning I was frightened, not sure what to expect. I grasped onto the reigns, begging for my circumstance—my worst nightmare, to come to an end—but it didn’t. And just when I felt all was lost, I looked ahead and spotted a loving Heavenly Father standing ahead of me with a smile on His face, cheering me on, coaxing me to let go, hoping someday I’ll understand the point of ride.

As I sit here and type this, I’m honestly in disbelief that today marks five years since our crazy ride began. Five years, 1,825 days, 43,764 hours, or 157 550 400 seconds without my daughter often seems like eternity. Though I’ve been consumed by intense heartache, pain, and tears, something changed this past year. I think part of it stems from keeping a daily gratitude journal, but I’m beginning to see the beauty of the ride. Though I will never stop missing her, I realize the growth that has taken place in both Pat and I. I’m beginning to see what a blessing it is to have an older sister in heaven for 3 little boys – who now have their own guardian angel. Sacred experiences have been life-changing, which has caused my testimony to grow in leaps and bounds.     

 Today I’m grateful that I’m the one who gets to be her mom, along with three crazy boys running around with strong little heartbeats.
Today Ledger was the one who wiped away my tear and said,
“Mom, I miss her too. So much.”

Sometimes the cost of a carousel ride which enables one to feel the breeze, is worth the ups and downs that comes along with it.
I just have to keep on reminding myself that on days like today.

We’re five years closer to seeing you again, sweetie.
We love you.