So, today marks six months since Caroline has passed away. Caroline Grace, my beautiful, precious, beloved fourteen-year-old daughter. I have been meaning to write, but there are just no words for how much I miss Caroline. There are just no words, and so there is almost nothing to say. Nothing and everything.
I knew the spring and summer would be hard, because as much as Caroline loved Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, I always thought of her as my summertime girl. She was born June 24, and she just always loved the summer. She loved summer clothes: shorts, flip-flops, and bathing suits. Summertime meant lots of sleepovers. It meant weeks spent with Colleen. Trips back and forth to Connecticut, Maine, and Ocean City. Summertime meant the pool: swimming on the swim team, playing beaver in the deep end, eating pizza, and playing cards. Always with Kacy, Clare, and Pete. She would go early in the day for swim team, and was often there when the pool closed. And I do mean often! The summers always ended with a good tan and beautiful blonde streaks in her hair—she was so proud of both. I will miss those summer days forever. I will miss my summertime girl forever.
Thinking about Caroline, I am breathless with all that I miss. She was so enthusiastic, so happy. She enjoyed everything. Not necessarily big things. Things as simple as a trip to Target or Barnes and Noble, new flip-flops from Old Navy, sneaking out early in the morning with me for a bagel, driving through McDonalds for a soda. Coke for me, Sprite for her, singing along to the radio, reading a good book ... the list is truly endless. Caroline didn’t just do these things, she did them with enthusiasm; and I don’t just realize this now, I knew it even then. I always knew I was so lucky to have her.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that she wasn’t perfect. She could stomp up the steps and slam the door with the best of them. I try to remember what would make her do that. Usually, it was teasing from the boys that started out funny, we would all be laughing, until suddenly it wasn’t funny and she was in tears. And off she’d go! Or sometimes she would get in trouble—although for nothing serious—and up she’d go, and ... slam!
After awhile, if she was in some sort of trouble, she’d throw balled up paper from the upstairs landing down to the foyer. There were notes written on the paper, that depending on the situation, said either how sorry she was, or how unfair and mean everyone was! I’ve still got some of those notes; they made me smile then. They make me cry now.
So Caroline wasn’t perfect ... except that she was. She was perfect in all of the ways that were important to us. She was loving, happy, funny, smiley, enthusiastic. She did her best in school, she tried her hardest on her sports teams. She loved to vacuum and clean bathrooms (really!) and she was great in the kitchen. She loved to bake and she considered keeping the pantry organized and the refrigerator clean her jobs. I remember when she begged me to buy her a Swiffer mop. She was only in third grade, but she loved it! She even used to like cleaning the boys’ bedrooms. Sometimes they thanked her and a few times even paid her, and sometimes they yelled at her to stay out of their rooms. She didn’t care; she would do it again a few months later. Such a sweet and funny girl. Just perfect for us.
Are there any lessons to be learned from this? There must be. Cherish the ordinary moments. Don’t wait for the perfect vacation, a big promotion, a bigger house to make you happy. Happiness is in the ordinary moments, going out for an ice cream, watching the end of a soccer practice, waiting in the carpool line, going to Target. Those are the moments that seem so ordinary, but definitely the ones I miss the most. What I wouldn’t give to do any of those things with Caroline again. It is so hard to believe that those days are over.
At least those days with Caroline here on Earth are over, but she is waiting for us in Heaven. We will be together again. It’s what God has promised, and what I have to believe. Our future includes Caroline, she has just gone ahead of us. I try to remind myself of that throughout the day. The faith to believe that, and remember it, has to be a gift from God, one of God’s graces. Faith is believing in what you cannot see. I have faith. I have to believe that I will see Caroline again.
