I just got home from a visit with one of my friends who has recently had a baby. I am now referred to as "Aunt Alice" in their household. I get to thinking so often about the fact that I am never going to be a real Aunt. I hope to get married one day, and have my own kids. And maybe I will be an Aunt by marriage, provided I don't marry an only child. But it's not the same, and it's not by blood.

I do however, in the same breath, think about how I have made it this far. I think about the fact that I am still here, and how the Lord must have me here for some purpose. I fully believe that the Lord is going to put babies and kids and friends in my life to fill the voids I feel in my heart, and those longings that I have. It is hard, but I have to choose to trust him with that.

I had to drive by the airport on my way home from my friends house. Driving by the airport makes me a bit crazy. I will never be able to drive by there again without the mental image in my head of picking up my brother's body there. This day was worse for me than the funeral. Of course the funeral was not a good day-I practically had to be carried out of the house. I guess I was trying to delay the finality of it. If I didn't go, it didn't happen. I remember my friends trying to blow dry my hair in my bathroom that day(I couldn't do anything on my own at this point), when we were waiting on the limos to get to the house. That must have been quite the sight. I collapsed in hysterics on the floor, and they quickly called for my Aunt Claire (I guess they didn't know what to do!) Somehow I made it out of the house that day, I'm not sure how. Yes, I am--God carried me.

But here we were at the airport that horrid day. It took us about a week to get his body flown in, because he went to Delaware first. I think about all the times we went to greet him at the Atlanta airport when he came home on leave, and here we were, picking up his body. We watched the plane land. Right as it came into view, my Dad totally lost it. That was one of a few times he lost it that day. It was a very surreal feeling. So surreal, in fact, that I pretended it wasn't really happening. I think that's called "denial". Detachment. When you can't handle the reality of something, you pretend that it just didn't happen.

Nevertheless, I will never be able to drive by that airport without remembering that day.