This day, just last year, I was holed up on my couch with my husband watching Avatar on Netflix (the actual, real cartoon not to be confused with the weird blue people). We didn’t go to any barbecues. No fireworks. No hot dogs. No sunburns. Because it was this weekend last year that we lost our first child.
This year, I woke up at 4 a.m. to a smiling, happy baby. I drank my coffee as my neighbors hung flags on the sides of their houses. Saw remnants of rogue fireworks scattered in my backyard. Tripped over the activity gym on the floor. Kicked plastic toys out of the path to the couch. And smiled. Not because pain is forgotten, but because of what God has done in our lives since. We will celebrate so much more than Independence today.