Two years ago today, one of my children went home. Two years ago today, my Makenzie looked up and saw Jesus on His front porch. Two years ago today my Makenzie walked across the threshold of eternity. She is safe. She is loved. She is complete. That is the promise that God made me. (Not that I’d ever really debate God, but if I didn’t know for sure that she was completely protected, God and I would have a little unpleasant pow-wow). Still, He holds to His promise to bring His children home and in that, I take comfort.
The reason “coming home” sticks with me on this dreadful anniversary is because they are the last words my ballerina said to me before dieing 8 minutes later. “I love you daddy. I’m on my way home.” *click*.
From that moment, I’ve spent days starring at the door, waiting for the handle to turn and the hinges to creak revealing my darling Makenzie. From that last call, I’ve spent hours counting minutes toward some unknown date when I’ll see her again. But the latch is closed and my heart still waits.
Our new normal without her is fine. We are fine. God has done a slow — according to me — but good work in our family. He is rebuilding a life for us. He has crafted a relational home for just the four of us in which to live.
We are safe. We are loved. We are not yet complete. But when it comes time for me truly to go home, I know that I’ll be with my Jesus; I’ll be squeezing my Makenzie and hopefully, you’ll be there as well.
So, two years have flowed under time’s bridge. Sometimes the water was rough. Other times, smooth. But through it all, our Lord has given us the assurance that Makenzie is home, safe. And if I could text her, my simple message would be:
“Goodnight my sweet ballerina. I’ll see you at home.”