Sometimes Your Eyes Leak

Sometimes your eyes just leak.

Sometimes life on a farm can break your heart and fill it right back up again, all within the same 24 hours.

Yesterday afternoon, around 1:30pm, was the last time Marc or I can remember seeing Clementine. By last night, it was dark, and there we were with flashlights, walking around our property, through the shelterbelts, and even down our dark dirt roads.

“Clementine!”

“Here, Mama!”

Calling and listening. Calling and listening.

Nothing.

No little meow from the darkness. No flash of eyes in the beam of the flashlight. No Clementine trotting toward us wondering what all the fuss was about. She just seems to have disappeared. And strangely enough, just like Walter did.

Today I’ve struggled with it. Especially while sitting in the garage with her five kittens.

Those kittens, meanwhile, seem blissfully unaware that anything is wrong. They are busy doing kitten things. Wrestling with each other. Climbing my sweatpants. Scaling my hoodie like I am their own personal mountain. Crawling all over me while I hold them and play with them.

They are happy.

And I miss their mama.

Clementine has been such a good mama. Such a sweet girl. And I keep hoping I’m going to look up and see her walking back into the yard as though she has absolutely no idea that two humans have been wandering around northeastern North Dakota with flashlights calling her name.

Tonight, after work, we looked again. We even drove a little farther down the dirt roads, watching for any sign of her. At this point, I don’t even know what kind of sign I was hoping to find.

We found nothing.

So, I came inside, changed my clothes and went out to the garage to spend some time with the kittens.

And then Marc walked in.

“Do you have your camera?”

Now, Marc had mentioned a while back that our female lop rabbit had been building a nest in her stall in the barn. I knew what that could mean, but with everything else happening around here, I hadn’t given it much thought.

He told me to follow him.

So, I did.

Out to the barn we went.

And there they were.

Baby bunnies.

Tiny. Colorful. Brand new little lives tucked into the nest. And I just stood there and cried. Because apparently my eyes hadn’t leaked enough in the last 24 hours.

But these tears were different.

And standing there looking at those tiny babies, I couldn’t help thinking about how strange and beautiful life can be. Sometimes we lose someone or something we love. Sometimes we don’t even know yet whether they’re truly gone. And sometimes, right in the middle of that sadness, we are handed a gift we didn’t even know was coming.

One doesn’t erase the other.

Those baby bunnies don’t make me miss Clementine any less. Tonight I’ll still listen when I step outside. I’ll still look toward the barn and the shelterbelt. I’ll still hope to see that familiar little face coming home.

But tonight there is also new life in our barn.

Five kittens are playing in the garage.

Baby bunnies are tucked into a nest.

I’m grateful for Marc. I’m grateful for my family. I’m grateful for these animals that somehow manage to completely capture my heart. I’m grateful for the privilege of caring about something enough that its absence hurts.

And I’m grateful that, even on a day when your heart feels a little broken, God can quietly remind you that life is still unfolding.

Sometimes with a flashlight in the darkness.

Sometimes with kittens climbing your sweatpants.

And sometimes in a little nest in the barn that you didn’t even know held brand new life.

Tonight, I’m grateful for all of it.

The highs.

The lows.

The tears.

The surprises.

And everything in between.

And Clementine, sweet girl, if you’re out there somewhere…

Come home. We miss you. 💛