There is so much happiness, but always with an edge of longing. Every smile has the slightest salty taste of a tear; every laugh holds the hint of a cry. I'm no longer living in a place of despair. I do feel happy most of the time, but pure joy seems to no longer exist. Something, rather someone, is always missing.
We recently returned from a family trip to Italy. I had high expectations for our trip. A few years ago we traveled to Germany. Our first child was a year old. I have such fond memories of that trip. Life was pretty close to perfect: an incredible husband, a sweet little boy, the beginning of our own family, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream to visit Europe, beautiful backdrops, rich history, amazing tours, and the new dream of returning to Europe someday with our next child along as well. Life was good. It was truly one of the happiest times of my entire life.
Italy was nice but not the same. It did not have that magical quality. Life didn't feel perfect. The closest it came was an evening spent at the most beautiful park, my first having a blast on the playground with the sparkling lake and pretty town below, the snow-peaked Alps on the horizon, my rainbow lying on my chest in the shade of the flowering trees, my husband watching our family with a slight smile on his strong face. I smiled and a tear slid down my face. It was such a gorgeous place and a wonderful moment, so close to perfection that I had to wonder if perhaps this place was a little of what heaven's playground might be like. Maybe it was a small taste of the beauty that is Elena's every day. I believe it could have been that magical night in Germany where life felt perfect and everything was as it should be...had only she been running across that playground with her big brother while throwing smiles at her baby brother. But of course she wasn't; she was missing and so very missed, and perfection and pure joy no longer exist for me. Great joy, yes, but always with an edge of longing.
