A blessing came and went in my life so briefly that perhaps it would seem insignificant to some.  Those of you who know me well, who know that my Blue streak is not as wide as many mothers may claim, will perhaps wonder if I am hormonal.  Maybe I am.  

Mr. Cole the Piglet was born at around 5pm Sunday evening and passed away at 3 this morning.  He was a good boy and he was loved right up to his last breath…that’s all I could give him.  I’m torn between vowing to harden myself to nature’s course or stubbornly maintaining my insistence of fighting for every critter, every tiny life, that comes my way.  On the one hand, I would lose a lot of heartache and stress.  On the other, I think I would lose a piece of myself that could never be regained.  

At one point, I held my little piglet as he had yet another seizure and I looked into his beautiful eyes and saw Payton.  I saw him jerking and grunting in pain and heard Payton.  Tiny, so undersized, so beautiful, and fighting so hard to live.  I knew then that I could not put him out of his misery, that I would hold him for as long as I could, and that a larger part of me than I allow myself to acknowledge still bleeds for that baby boy.  

I am having a hard time with this blessing...but I know that it was a blessing.  The re-opening of that wound was something that apparently I needed, as was the reminder that Payton is alive.  He exists and his story continues and my part in it may not be finished...just on hold.  I look at those around me who have lost a child and I understand their deeper connection with God, their unshakable faith that one day they will see that child again.  I am a step closer than that and I can be patient as well as thankful.

Sweet, tiny Cole didn't live long but I am grateful for every moment I had with him, just as I am thankful for every second of my time with Payton.  Sometimes the things that cause us the most grief are the greatest blessings of all.