I've felt some self induced pressure to go there in terms of how we are doing with the loss of our little one. I find that today, a day when our beautiful nephew Major would have been six, is a good day to go there.
This post has been ruminating in my head for awhile. I don't plan on editing it, just spewing it out really.
The shock has worn off, the grief has set in.
As I drove to my follow up appointment with my wonderful OB yesterday, I sat in the agony of grief. Its weight, its presence, its purpose.
I can remember hearing of people who had lost children and were able to turn around and worship God. They would press into His purpose, the joy of heaven. And while I joyed in their response, I wasn't sure if I even could respond the same way.
I was shown I wouldn't.
As I sat in shock for awhile after the news that we would have to deliver our baby who had passed, I honestly melted into a puddle of apathy. Oh I get suffering. {I mean as much as one can get something that makes no sense but is a part of life} But my first instinct was not to worship and praise for the time we had with our child.
I usually pride myself in my ability to 'self talk' my way out of most situations. Think of your blessings. Other people have it harder. You have four healthy children. Life is tough, get over it. But thankfully, none of it worked. And I was in a million pieces, unable to grasp and take hold of any of those truths, I met a God who reminded me it was ok.
Growing up I was often met with stories of how much harder people had it and how I needed to get over things. I married a man who, at one time, had a very similar reaction to my hurts.
But God? He pulled up a chair and sat with me. He sat with me as I ran to anything to ease the pain. He sat with me as I basically reenacted the Patty Duke scene in the 'Miracle Worker.' He sat with me as I neglected my 'duties,' throwing aside the mom I wanted to be and sinking into the mom I am. He sat with me when all I could do was kiss and hold my children as the laundry and the dishes piled up. I was met with grace, not for how I handled things, but simply because I was His child.
The truth is, I don't know how to suffer well. I hate it. I do not "..rejoice insofar as you share Christ's sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed." {I Peter 4:13} Nor do I "Count it all joy." {James 1:2} I fight with everything I am to at least be functional, never mind my heart. But God wants my heart. And that is maddening.
We are still grieving. We are grieving our babe. We are hitting all the stages of grief out of sequence. We have no idea of the future for potential children. {On a side note when you are a family who is open to LIFE, you are open to life no matter the vehicle i.e.: birth, adoption, foster care.} I am only slightly less of a mess. But I know, now more than ever, that God is the purser. His love is not based on our reaction to suffering. And for that? I'm grateful.
One day, I hope to suffer well.
I know there will be more opportunities this side of eternity.
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I cannot begin to thank the people who have loved us during this time. Thank you to those who watched our children, gave us meals, did our laundry and prayed for us when we couldn't.
Love to you all.
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Please {Please, please, please} remember our family Dave, Darcy and their kids in prayer today as they remember their son and brother Major.
