I am sorrowful.
Grief is my constant, unrelenting companion. Everything around me reminds me of David. When I see a picture that was taken before David, I think to myself, "I had no idea when I took that picture that I was going to have a baby boy that would die." When I walk by the baby section in Target, I get choked up thinking about the fact that I should be shopping there. When I hear a baby's cry, I wish that it were my baby.
Every day when I wake up, I am confronted with the harsh reality that my baby boy is not going to cry for me today or any day. In going through my daily routine, I am constantly thinking of all the things that I should be doing with my newborn son, and I am flooded with feelings of loss and emptiness.
I am afraid.
I am scared to "move on" because I feel like moving on means forgetting David, and I do not want to forget him or move on with my life without him. I feel as if I am in a time warp while all of the world is moving on without me. It is as if I have boarded a ship that is sailing farther away from David with each day that passes on the calendar.
I know that I will never "get over" David, and I will most certainly never forget him. David changed my life forever, and somehow I have to learn to adjust to the new "me." This new me is less controlled, more emotional, and much more uncertain than ever before.
I am angry.
I asked God to do something miraculous. In fact, God put it in my heart to ask for David’s healing, and then He said, “no.” His answer to my prayer was a no, without any explanations. Well-meaning people try to find a miracle in the situation by saying that that the fact that David was born alive was a miracle. I do not deny that the seven hours that we got to spend with David alive outside of my womb were truly a gift from God, but this was NOT the miracle that I asked God to do.
In God’s sovereign control over the work of His hands, He knit David together with bones that were not strong or big enough to sustain his life. I do not need to make excuses for God about why David was not healed. The truth is that I know that God was able to heal him. It would not have been difficult for the Creator of the Universe to heal my baby boy. But He chose not to do it, and this makes me mad. I do not understand. "O Sovereign Lord, you alone know." (Ezekiel 37:3)
I have hope.
If only for this life do I have hope in Christ, then I am to be pitied more than all men (I Corinthians 15:19). But thanks be to God. "Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Corinthians 15:55-57).
Therefore, I will stand firm and let nothing move me because I know that my labor in the Lord is not in vain.
It is raw, isn't it? But so very true. You are a courageous woman, Rachael. Thank you for sharing the raw truth, and for allowing us the priviledge of standing in the gap for you through daily prayer. You are loved.
ReplyDeleteYour words sound so familiar to me. As if it were just yesterday for me again. I'm so sorry you're having to endure such heartache. There are no words that anyone can say or anything anyone can do to make it better. But, oh how I wish there was...
ReplyDeleteI remember those early days and months of grief and sorrow. (They still strike me now...they're just not as constant) I honestly felt like they would never end. And, in a way, I didn't want them to because the grief was where I felt closest to Grady. I remember the first time I truly laughed after Grady died, I felt a tremendous amount of guilt. How could I genuinely laugh when my baby had just died??? But the leader of my support group said something one night that really struck me. She said, "Laughing doesn't make you love him any less, just like crying doesn't make you love him any more". It's true. If I'm honest, I still occasionally let myself go into that deep, dark pit of grief where the tears just won't stop...because it's where I feel oh so close to my baby boy. It was the emotion that most surrounded my time with him, other than the time that he was in my womb before he died.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to write so much. I still want to get together. I'm here for you and still praying you through this most difficult time.
Love and hugs to you,
Tonya
I can relate. I remember after Faith died when all I could think about was her. When would the time come when I did not think about her at every turn? I also remember the tears shed by my husband as he worried about forgetting her - her smell, her face, her feet. The guilt that would come when he did not think about her all the time.
ReplyDeleteGrief is a roller coaster and sometimes it makes you want to throw up.