Inching and Lurching

I spent Easter with my family.  It was the first time we were all together since Beth's funeral and it was difficult; firsts usually are.  Lots of talking and tears but plenty of laughter, too.  We are moving forward.  Each of us in different ways and on different paths, each stumbling and falling, each with questions that have no answers, but moving forward.  In spite of ourselves and the circumstances, it seems, but inching and lurching forward.  I know that's how life works.  I know that's what has to happen in order to survive.  I know that living in the pain doesn't keep Beth any closer to our hearts, but maybe the pain helps make the reality real?  Just until we can see a new reality and hold Beth in a place that doesn't hurt quite as much. Until we can remember without our heart plunging into the pit of our stomach.  Only until her absence isn't the elephant in every room.  Until...

BEFORE Beth, my SIL asked me to create a memory book for the family of a 6 year old who died suddenly.  This type of request produces anxiety on all kinds of levels.  Aside from not knowing the family, it's a balancing act to create a memory book that doesn't look like a baby book but still celebrates the life of a precious child.  I started on the book and then Beth died and the book was forgotten for awhile, but last week something urged me to work on it again.  I completed it and the book will be given to the family just in time for his seventh birthday.  It has a nice flow of energy with images of childhood mixed with messages of hope and healing.  Kinda like what my family and I are dealing with right now.  I'm happy with it and I hope they will be, too.  Here's a few peeks:

I used a vintage children's dictionary for the cover.
You look to a dictionary to help you
learn and understand, right? 

Hope, kindness, and space for pictures.

Always. Remember.
Like you could ever forget.

Angels and prayers.

Forever and ever and always.