![]() ![]() All I knew was that God wasn’t showing up. Whenever I tried to pray, the sadness and confusion were louder. I wish I could say that I remained hopeful and aware of His plans and purpose, but that just wasn’t the case. ![]() I wish I could say that His presence was tangible. I wish I could say that I relied heavily on my faith and relationship with God. In the month after Henry’s death, we entered into a phase I like to call “the grief cocoon.” We were surrounded by the love of our family and friends. His voice would be clear as crystal in those difficult days. ![]() I silently asked myself, what would I do if this happened to Henry? How would I survive? I assumed God’s presence would keep me alive. I was in the second trimester of my own pregnancy when she died. Our close family member had just lost their daughter to stillbirth. Just a few months before our own loss, we received some tragic news. I, like most humans, had always feared pain. I think in a way, I had assumed that God’s presence would act as a payment for my pain: “I made you go through this, now here I am.” right?Ī part of me knew from past experiences that I may not find an answer for Henry’s death, but I still wanted one. There has to be a reason for our sorrows then. As believers, we are told that God has a plan and that He is in control. When tragedy strikes, we often want to find a reason for it. I knew I had to shove it away, but it lingered. We said the goodbyes no parent should ever have to say. We held our four-pound one ounce perfect son. I chose a c-section and we declined an autopsy. How would I deliver? Would we bury him? What about an autopsy? This calm remained just long enough for me to navigate these questions. When you lose a baby, you are plunged into a world of horrible decisions. God, how could you do this to us? Shock and sadness muddled my brain, yet a strange calm came over me. We held each other and wept feeling so broken and betrayed. My husband ran up to Labor and Delivery, barely hindered by Covid trifles. As the nurse searched my belly for evidence of life, one word stayed on my lips: please. Minutes earlier, that hopeful me was still there. The hopeful, excited, pregnant me was gone. “I’m so sorry, there is no heartbeat.” As soon as I heard those devastating words, I knew my life had changed. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |