My son isn't coming home. I have imagined this day since I got pregnant. He was gonna be an April baby. I dreamed about taking his picture in the blue bonnets. Easter Sunday. The beach this summer. Those dreams are gone. Henry's not here. And I'll never see him again on this earth. I will never hear his laugh. I'll never rock him or nurse him. I'll never wipe the tears from his face or kiss his boo boos. I am so sad. And mad. And frustrated that I can't turn back time. Or change what happened. Yes, I have the hope of heaven. Yes, God will use this. Yes, there is good in it. He is good, but I'm a mother! A mother who delivered her lifeless child. There are no words in the world that can comfort my heart. It's my worst nightmare. It's something I never dreamed would happen to me. When I was pregnant with Benjamin I had no clue to be afraid of this. We live in a world with cutting edge medicine. Babies don't die in your womb. Or so I thought. Yet here I am. On the eve of Henry's due date. Flat bellied, empty armed and heavy hearted. I actually don't know why Henry's due date is so hard for me. I probably wouldn't have even had him on April 12th. I guess it's the end of a chapter. It feels so final.
I've said this before, but I believe God took Henry from my womb. I don't think He allowed it or the nature of sin caused it to happen. God knew Henry would die before I was born. He knew when I became a Christian. He knew every time I lifted my hands in worship. He knew the day before it happened...when I was praying for my son's salvation. But He, too, was praying, only it was for me as he watched Henry take his last breath on earth. I thought something might be wrong, but I felt a kick Sunday night that gave me hope. I had no idea it would be his last. I was probably sleeping when Henry passed away, but God wasn't. He was up all night, praying fervently for me. When I woke the next morning with a lifeless child in my womb, I had no clue that Jesus was holding Henry in His arms. He was praying for me as I drove to the doctor's office. He was holding my son as I was told there's no heartbeat. He was holding Henry as I held his lifeless body.
While I believe God took Henry, I don't think this makes Him a cruel God. His ways are higher than my ways. That's a written truth that I'm clinging to. Of course this does nothing for my mother's heart. My human heart is shattered, and I think God knows that. God can handle my angry days. He can handle my sadness, and He can handle my confusion. But make no mistake. This won't be the wall that ends my faith. Where I quit. This won't be the moment I claim atheism or agnosticism or rebel against God. That would make Henry's life a waste. And it wasn't. His short life and untimely death has blessed me and taught me more than anything in this world.
Losing my child just about killed me. At times, it seems like a sick joke, but I can't deny that it was a gift. A gift I was forced to embrace. It has changed me in ways I can't even explain. It has taken me from a mere Christian who relied on her parents, her husband, modern medicine, and the securities of this world to a woman who knows that Christ drives everything. Everything else is a false sense of security. He is and was and will be and that's all that matters. And if I truly truly believe that this life is about nothing else than serving God, why wouldn't I embrace suffering? Why wouldn't I thank God for this gift? After all, didn't He give me the ultimate gift, a gift He wouldn't return if given the chance?
Not a lot of people know this, but Henry probably saved my life. While the doctor is unsure of the exact cause of his death, we found out 2 things. 1. He had hydrocephalus. 2. I had a huge clot in my placenta that was causing an abruption that would have been life threatening to both of us. Had Henry not died, they likely wouldn't have seen it, and I would have hemorrhaged internally. I may have survived, but the treatment usually involves a hysterectomy, making more children impossible.
It was an absolute honor to carry my son. I don't regret a moment of it, even knowing the outcome. I am so proud to be his mother. To have carried him his whole life. It's one of my proudest accomplishments. Hearing his name is the sweetest sound on earth. I love to talk about him. I may no longer carry him in my womb, but I will carry that child for the rest of my life. I obviously don't want to leave Benjamin, but if I were to die tomorrow I would be so happy to see my second born. I crave heaven for that reason.
Don't get me wrong, I still have my moments. I heard a baby cry at Old Navy the other day and it knocked the breath out of me. Pregnant bellies, baby showers, newborn clothes, they are like pouring salt on a bad cut. Sometimes, even today, I wonder why me and not someone else. Why does she get 3 healthy babies? Why do things come easier for her? Why didn't God ask her to walk this path? While these questions will forever turn in my mind, I don't think they're the right ones to ask. I'm actually the blessed one. God chose me to walk with Him in a way others will never know. And worship is somehow so much sweeter. All the things I cherish on this earth, even babies and loved ones, are second to fellowshipping with the King. I think my mother's heart will always want to give the gift back if given the choice. I don't know if that makes me a bad person or just human, but I'm so thankful for a God that is sovereign and sees past today. Who sees the final picture. Who understands that all this is light and momentary in comparison yet is patient enough to provide me with comfort as I wrestle with His perfect will. A God who makes beauty from ashes. And above all, a God who sent His Son to die so that I will see mine again.
No comments:
Post a Comment