I’ve been pondering an awful lot tonight about babies & their tiny spirits & why life has to be so darn tragic sometimes.

I can’t quite seem to figure out if I’m living the story I’m supposed to be living. I’m so scared, because with more tiny spirits comes more tragedies. And frankly, God, I’d rather live a comedy instead of a tragedy.

I’ve been studying fairy tales and stories lately, and I’ve concluded that it’s only after a tough, rigorous voyage that the protagonist becomes a hero. He is challenged beyond what he thinks he is capable of, but because of it grows exponentially.

In most narratives, the protagonist sets out on his initial heroic quest to go home. He gets incredibly lost. He strays off the path because of unfortunate events.

But because of these unfortunate events he develops a capacity to love. He becomes smarter and wiser. He comes to understand that home isn’t exactly a place, but more of a feeling.

I think the whole point, really, is to be transformed through that journey and come out the other end with more knowledge and greater understanding than you had before. It’s your prize for fighting.

So what’s my prize, then? I certainly feel like I’ve conquered some heroic quest that’s been pushed upon me, and I’ve come out older and wiser. But maybe I’m not done yet, because I certainly don’t feel that sense of home that is supposed to encompass me. I still feel like I’m a stranger here.

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Amelia Lynn, I don’t know why you died. I don’t know why you and God teamed up and insisted that we were the family you were supposed to come to. I don’t know why I still feel so much anger and sadness and sorrow. I don’t know why my heart feels like it will never fully heal.

But I’m grateful you were part of my story anyway. Maybe you’re the prize at the end that I get to look forward to, that I fight everyday for. And how sweet that joy will be when we are finally together again, finally home.