Then...

...when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:

“Death is swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”

I Corinthians 15:54-55

A fragmented post

One of the happiest moments of my day...



Watch more of Maya's violin lesson here.

Some other happy moments...

Arriving to work early after an eerily calm morning... without rushing. Early enough even for a rare visit to the Starbucks drive-through.

A couple of my little violinist girls were patient enough (and happened to have good enough timing) to feel some surprisingly powerful Sophia/Ian kicks while I tuned their violins.

Hearing my beginner strings class celebrate so enthusiastically as we attempted each new song in their books today.... "Pepperoni Pizza," "Hot Cross Buns," and "Au Claire de la lune."

Dinner at 6:00 with Ryan and Maya...and the sun was STILL shining. hope. spring.

Cookie dough ice cream.




For me today, life and beautiful things kept happening...but part of me felt like everything should stop. Mostly, it was a very heavy day. And I haven't really allowed myself to feel the full weight of it. It just isn't something my mind can process, but I'm aching still.

My school day ended in a circle on the floor with my fourth graders, listening to another teacher carefully explain to the class why a Grandma had come to get one of their friends earlier in the day. She came to bring her home and to tell her that her father (who had just celebrated his 41st birthday with her yesterday) suddenly, without any explanation (so far) or any warning had died this morning at work.

As Ryan and I sang and tucked our Maya into her bed tonight, I couldn't stop thinking of my little red-headed girl who won't have her daddy tuck her in tonight or ever. And who never imagined that this could be what today would bring.

I love this little girl so much. Maya adores her too. She plays with her while she waits for her violin lesson to start each week. I will miss hearing her play Boccherini's famous Minuet tomorrow. I hope she is sleeping now.

My amazing friend Mandy works in a Children's ICU.

I've always told her that I could never do her job. The weight of all the sadness there would be too much for me. Children who are sick...sometimes dying. It seems so unnatural and wrong.

My job may require patience (occasionally there are *some* rough days), but I don't ever have to watch grieving parents watch their child suffer.

Schools are full of life...and hope. Mostly healthy kids, learning, playing, growing.

This morning at one of the elementary schools where I teach, I was surprised and concerned to see tears in the office. The matter-of-fact, cheerful, efficient secretary didn't greet me as usual. I thought maybe she had just received news about a family member or close friend. This afternoon, when I returned to the school, I understood.

The classroom teacher quickly tried to warn me that something really sad had happened....the kids might say something. We'd talk after class. But as I started to welcome the kids, several kindergarteners raised their hand.

"Mrs. Corbin, Alexis isn't here because she died."

It was true. My beautiful little kindergartener, died last night after complications from a heart operation.

We sang together. Silly songs about "Old King Cole" and "BINGO." They laughed and sang and played, but it was hard. Maybe not for them. They can't and probably shouldn't feel the weight of this. Not yet.

I think that must be the most awful pain that a parent could ever feel.

I still feel sick.