I knew even driving home from swimming that today was probably going to be the day. The day a little girl we know would lose her battle with neuroblastoma... the same nasty thing that took our son. It felt weird going through the motions of a 'normal' day. Whatever that is. Knowing this day is anything but normal to someone somewhere in a hospital room. Crying over a baby girl that will not grow up. I just want to cry.
This isn't the first time someone we've known about has lost a child since we've lost ours. And it sure doesn't get any easier. It takes me back. To a place I don't really want to be. It makes me remember things a mother doesn't want to remember. Death. Lifelessness. "Making plans". The physical things that 'must' be attended to, while all the while being numb and exhausted.
And now it's another family's pain. A memory for another mother (and father).
I'm thankful we do not grieve without hope. In the midst of death and loss, there is life and hope. I know that can sound shallow, but it isn't. When you muddle through everything else, He is really all we have. He *is* our only Hope.
We must hold on to it, to Him with all we have and all we are!
2 comments:
Kay -
I recently went back and read some of your older posts and realized what you had been through with your son. Although I have not walked precisely in your same shoe leather in this situation... I know what you're talking about. I dealt with my share of grief over 2 miscarriages in as many months back in 2001, not long after dd was born. I remember going to a funderal for a little baby that was stillborn and it was my first brush with a similar death after my losses. It was so painful and so difficult. Just know that I know kind of where you are emotionally with this. Praying for you this evening.
I am so sorry about this new loss, and the pain that it causes to open afresh in your heart.
God bless you (and your friends) as you (and they) go through this dark valley.
Post a Comment