Friday, March 28, 2014

11 weeks or 39 weeks or a Lifetime?

She pauses, tears glistening in her eyes.  She looks at the calendar and the tears become streams.  This was it--this weekend was supposed to be the triumph, the culmination of all those weeks of laying around, of waiting and wondering; hoping and praying.  Instead? Her heart is heavy with a grief greater than anything she has ever known.  10 weeks 4 days since she held her precious daughter in her arms and realized with a mind-numbing certainty that she would never watch her child grow up--never know the joy of the first smile, the first words, the first steps, the first everything.  Instead she got to lay her first daughter in a cold, dark grave, see the first flowers placed on that grave, see the first flowers eaten by the ravenous deer, survive the first church service, the first month, and on and on and on it goes.

This week-it's been so hard.  She has fought the tears.  Life feels so empty; her job has no meaning.  She is only putting in time.  She sits down and looks at the pictures and her heart breaks some more.  How could God ask this of her? How can she go on?  Life was supposed to get easier--the grief less poignant and piercing.  But this emptiness, this aching, it's very real.  She focuses her attention on the scrapbook because it feels good to be this close to her daughter--it's the little she has left, and yet it produces a searing pain that feels like it could potentially heal.

She talks to another mother who has gone through something similar and is left with a greater grief--a grief for the other mother and her lack of memories.  She walks away grateful for all the memories she has of her little girl and grieves for the lack of memories for the other mother. She longs for the personal connection she was expecting--the sharing of griefs and fears, but it remains that-only a longing; another longing unfulfilled.

People say it's too bad--someone who has helped with so many babies being born--as though it would somehow insulate her from any losses.  If only.

That's a little of how it feels--this weekend was supposed to be a triumph--it was what I was living for that morning of January 13, 2014.  If only I could make it to this weekend, how much better of a chance would Nicole have had.  But that was not God's will.  My sister shared the following verse with me this week from Isaiah 35:  The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom, it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy" The desert and the wilderness are parched,dry places, but somehow there is joy there yet.  That describes it--except I think my desert and wilderness should have lots of flowers by now for all the watering it has gotten over the last 2 months.  Maybe 6 months or a year or three, I will look back and recognize the pain as a quiet ache in the Nicole shaped part of my heart.  I will never regret having grieved Nicole,  I will never regret having loved Nicole and so I will continue to grapple my way through this unknown maze that lies ahead of me.  


  1. Hi Dear Sister,
    Ok through my tears, I say thank you for sharing. You have no idea how much it means to have you let us in on your thoughts and feelings. I often just don't know what to do or say. I think of you soo often and yet I'm still scared of saying the wrong things. I guess I'll stop there. All the griefs in life just seem so unbearable. I'm going to go help water your desert in hopes of flowers blooming one day. God just bless you both so abundantly!!!!! You are so right you will never regret loving her.

  2. I'm sorry. I can't imagine how hard it must be. I hope you will see some flowers blooming in your desert this week. jo


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