What my five year old knows.

Sometimes, things around the Fraser household can go a week even two completely normal. {And I am not sure how exactly I mean normal.} Normal in a sense, the pain of Savannah is almost non-existent. Then there are days, like yesterday afternoon, when suddenly, and in an instant, I remember that just because I may not be saying her name outloud very often, doesn't mean I don't think of her. And this goes for the members in my family who lost her too.

{Michael David.}

 Day before yesterday {Thursday} me and my three little ones went to visit Savannah, and bring her some decorative goodies we all picked out, prepping her gravesite for Easter and St. Patricks Day. Visiting her, brings thoughts of her closer to the front of our minds.

It was a warm, sunny day yesterday afternoon. I drove down the road, window cracked, enjoying the radio playing familiar songs, with my daughter and two sons riding along as my usual company. Michael sat in the backseat coloring in his sister's "Strawberry Shortcake" coloring book. {Yes, I am that mom who has coloring books and crayons in my car.} Humming to myself, Michael from the backseat spoke up over the music. "Look Mommy, I drew a heart." Turning around briefly to show delight in his artwork, all the while trying to watch the road while driving through downtown traffic at "school pickup" rush hour, I said "Wow Michael, that is a beautiful heart." He smiled proudly, went back to coloring, and I went back to driving and humming.

A few minutes later, Michael's little voice broke through the radio once more. "Your heart doesn't look like ours Mommy. Yours changed to the shape of a baby. This is your heart Mommy."

I turned around again, trying to look at his artwork and register all that had just been said to me. I glance and see the tiny drawing of a baby. A precious stick baby, but a baby in Michael's eyes non the less. Michael see's the change. The transformation a mother experiences when they loose a child. It's too much for much for my baby shaped heart to take in rush hour. "Thank you Michael," was all I could muster. I rolled through a green light thinking of the observation my five year old had made. A pretty big one in my eyes... Finding out you have a new heart from your five year old? Let's just say the sun kissing my arms felt even nicer to me, afterwards.

A big brother standing proud at 

his baby sisters funeral.