I wish it were that easy

This evening I asked Olivia to put her shoes on and just like she does every time she goes to put on her tennis shoes she takes the velcro completely out and then gets frustrated because she can't get it back in. You would think that she would learn not to take it all the way out the next time, but that's not the case which in turn frustrates me. So, she's whining on the steps and I go over to her, grab her shoe and say, "why do you always pull the velcro all the way out?!?"
Olivia: Because I'm trying to stretch it up to heaven so Jesse can slide down.
I was left speechless as tears streamed down my face. I wish it were that easy!
I'm reminded of this poem:

IF TEARS COULD BUILD A STAIRWAY AND MEMORIES WERE A LANE

I WOULD WALK RIGHT UP TO HEAVEN TO BRING YOU HOME AGAIN

NO FAREWELL WORDS WERE SPOKEN NO TIME TO SAY GOODBYE

YOU WERE GONE BEFORE I KNEW IT AND ONLY GOD KNOWS WHY

MY HEART STILL ACHES WITH SADNESS AND SECRET TEARS STILL FLOW

WHAT IT MEANT TO LOSE YOU NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW" Anonymous

Can't we just build a stairway? Or get enough velcro to reach up to heaven and then Jesse and my other two angels could just slide right down it and back to me?

Oh, to have the mind of a child. Olivia talks about her brother all the time. There's a statue in our living room of a baby being cradled in hands and we call it "Jesse". She'll talk to it like it's real. If she's playing and accidentally bumps into it, she'll say, "Sorry Jesse". When the name Jesse is spoken she immediately thinks, "that's my brother, he lives in heaven." She's not sad, she's happy that she has a brother in heaven. When I think if Jesse I immediately begin to feel those raw emotions all over again. I get angry with God for taking my son to heaven way before his time. I look forward to the day when I meet him in heaven, but I can't say that's where my mind goes when his name is mentioned or that I immediately feel happy that I have a son in heaven. I want that innocence of a child.

My brother had a couple in his small group who had a full-term stillborn last week and the funeral for little Spencer yesterday. Anytime I read of another stillborn, whether it's someone I know, friends of friends or complete strangers, the pain of Jesse dying is as fresh as July 22, 2006 when we found out his tiny heart was no longer beating. Like my friend said to me the other day, I long for the days when "stillborn" wasn't even a part of our vocabulary. I mean, we heard about it and it seemed like such an unfortunate thing, but the word was pretty meaningless. Now? It's a common term in my vocabulary and just hearing the word brings back so many emotions.

It's like being in a club that you don't want to be in. You love the support you get from other mothers - some close friends, some strangers - who can look you in the eye and say, "I know exactly what you are going through." and at the same time you hate that you share this bond. I'm so thankful that I had a close friend who experienced losing a son at the same time that I did, but I hate it at the same time. I have bonded with her unlike any other person on this earth, but I hate that. I hate that she had to feel the pain that I went through, I hate that I had to feel the pain that she went through. The bond that is like no other, the bond that I am so thankful is the same bond that I despise - does that make any sense? I'm sure it will to her - I don't even have to worry that she'll get upset at the fact that I say I despise that bond, because I know she feels the same way - why did it have to happen to both of us, why did it have to happen to either of us, why does it have to happen to anyone?

WOW, who knew this would be what I would write tonight. I thought I was just sitting down to tell you something cute that Olivia said today, but out of nowhere came this. Thanks for listening to me vent.