Here we are, mostly in the middle of birthday week and last night my darling Mr. S had a rough night at work. A 2 year old passed away, bringing many tears, sorrow, heartache and memories. For many of those there, the tears flowed freely and the grief was more distant.
A child can’t die without many feeling the loss keenly, though not as keen as the parents. There’s something almost un-natural when a child dies. It doesn’t follow the order of life, ya know? I can’t imagine being the doctor that makes that call, that has to face the parents and break the most gravest of news. In those raw, heavy moments, I wonder what Michaels doctor felt, how he made it through the rest of the night. Sometimes I wish I could find him, hug him, and thank him for the herculean effort in trying to save Mickey from passing away.
Doctors are molded and encouraged to save life, not watch it ebb away, especially when the life ebbing is so young and innocent. Last night another doctor had the heavy task of facing another family, who will be broken, and grief-stricken, never the same again. And I can only pray…I pray they know my Lord God. I pray they allow the grief to happen. I pray they learn to forgive each other, and others. I just pray. It’s so easy to label the blame on others or oneself. It’s very easy to wallow in and savor the grief – for some reason the thinking is that if we let the grief go, so to do we let the child and our memories of that child, go.
I think of the staff now…the staff during Michael’s death and those last night. The grief shared and felt by those who’s job and passion it is to SAVE and restore. The guilt and the grief that will rest in them now. I remember snippets of faces during my own deep grieved moments in the small wall-less room, with only curtains to shield me. No doubt, everyone in the emergency room and beyond heard my wailing. I remember distantly thinking that I’d never wailed before, and that the sound of it must pierce the souls of those in hearing.
To know my darling boy right now is around the age of this one who passed now, knowing the life and energy he brings into our lives, and imagining it suddenly out. Gone. I can’t…I don’t want to remember the deepest searing pain. But I do…because somewhere is another mother, whom I will think of, when I pray for mothers of loss. Another mother has joined the club none of us wanted to join.
Did you know, there are many of us out there? More than one might imagine? I wish it wasn’t so taboo to speak of children who’ve left before us. But I can understand why. It’s hard sometimes to just speak of the ones we’ve lost, because we’re not willing to try to explain to those who don’t know what it’s like. We don’t want to mention the names and lives, because it will put a downer in the conversation, when all we wanted to do was to simply say the name. Remember the smiles. The laughter. The joy. The life that was. We don’t want to tell strangers, because suddenly we because this weirdo that has horns and such on her head, for speaking of a child as if he were here, but isn’t. The reasons are many, but the reasons conclude in nearly the same one: we don’t want the memories to fade or the name to go unspoken, the life forgotten. The fact that we were a mother to a child no longer here. No…we don’t want that left behind in conversations.
But pulling out the name and the memories is like pulling out the most treasured of chests, full of all that we have left of this life we carried, loved and lost. We don’t want the life to be rejected, and we don’t want to be rejected.
I also think of those I know who’ve had miscarriages. Another taboo subject. But I wonder myself…many of this society don’t consider life in the womb to be LIFE, so already these precious mothers may feel some rejection from that. To carry a life, and lose it, to not hold it at all, to have the dreams and wonderment and see it go…another thing I don’t want to imagine. They too, have a treasure chest of memories. They too, don’t want the life rejected or their feelings.
Life is life. When it’s lost, especially when it’s young life, it’s hard. It’s brutal. It goes against nature, it seems. It doesn’t make any sense, and frankly…any reason God would give me probably wouldn’t set well with me. But one thing I do know is this: God is God…He carried me through this and He can carry me through anything. He is the Comforter, the Redeemer, the One to whom I can run and be held by.
Today’s post is just random it seems to me, but Sunday is the day our Michael would be 4. So I’m always most reflective of grief, life and death around his would-be birthday. And then last night happened, and I heard some grief in my darling Mr. S’s voice again. So my advice is always this, hug your family. Cherish the moments that irritate you, bug you, worry you and annoy you. Because when the life is gone, funnily enough, those moments become just as treasured as any other.