If You Are Reading This

 “I looked for you, the one my heart loves. I looked for you, but could not find you.”  (Matt Maher, “Set Me as a Seal”) 

If you are reading this, I am so incredibly sorry. Honestly, there are no words which fit, are there?   No elequoent response or word of condolence to justify such an extreme act of injustice. No warm message, encouraging point, or heartfelt sympathy will make this better.  So if you are here, because the circumstances of your life have brought us together on this painful road, please know my heart suffers with you.

For me, this journey has often felt so unbelievably lonely. Who can know the pain of such a dark day and dark night, which manifests itself into weeks and months of an unexplainable future filled with an all consuming grief, except one who has experienced it?  No one can say the right words or display the behavior I need at every given moment. This has been hard.  I find myself constantly searching...

Searching for answers.  Searching for a reason.  Searching for healing.  Searching for acceptance. Searching for validation.  Searching for a way to fast forward through this first year.  Searching for myself.  Who am I even anymore?  And I’m ultimately searching for my baby.  Why is she not here?  

If you are reading this, you are probably searching, too.

So what have I found?

I have found comfort in my husband’s arms. In his constant love. In his care for me. In his desire to meet me at my darkest hour.  I have found his deep love that knows no boundaries and will cross every barrier to be flesh of my flesh.  I have found that we can survive anything together. And I have found a bond that I share with no other.  

I have found consolation in the cradle of my four children, as they embrace my entire being, while I weep myself into the late hours of the night.  In the early days when their hearts knew my heartache, and their small feet would patter across the concrete floors to share their love and deep hurt, too.  As my girl’s would stroke my dirty, unwashed hair.  When my oldest son would hold me until my breathing settled, or I lied and told him I was “okay.”  In the innocence of the, “How many kisses do you need, Mom?” from my youngest. 

I have found security in good, faithful friends. In their steadfast love to just simply sit with me. To hear me. To cry with me. To not judge, reprimand, inform, or advise. To check in on me daily and weekly just to see “how I am doing.”  Who, even five months down the road, validate my emotions and the rawness of my grief.  Who let me be me.  And who listen and love in a way I will never be able to repay.

I have found healing in new relationships. In the community and company of other mothers who have also lost their babies too soon. In woman who boldly and vulnerably share their stories and find freedom in doing so.

I have found renewal in telling my story. In saying my little girl’s name. In telling others how she impacted my life, and how I will never be the same.

I have found that life is ugly, and I don’t like it. I have seen that death is real. That there are no guarantees. That I have zero control over anything. That even good things are taken.  And that suffering is inevitable. 

But I have also found the Lord creeping back into my life, ever so slowly, through the small crack I left open for him at the entry way of my heart.  And honestly, I’m finding how much that scares me. What more will He ask of me?

So if you are reading this, what are you looking for?  A healing?  An answer?  An awareness?  An understanding?  Nonetheless, thank you for being here and joining the journey.