Stillness

In quiet times of reflection- in peaceful moments of thought, I often wonder where the stillness within me comes from.  How can I not be furious at the Lord for the deaths of my sons?

I ask myself this question and the answer is that I have been angry. 

I have been greatly disappointed. 

What I have not been though, and what I refuse to be, is disbelieving.

However easy it is for me to allow myself to cry and wail over my losses, it is a far more satisfying thing to believe that all of this is a brief and temporary season.  The Lord, my God, that I have placed my trust in tells me that I will see my boys again.  And while He stands beside me, He weeps.  He cries for me and he cries with me.  He hurts too.  I think He cries because He sees what I can't. 

--------------------------------

I believe that God could have healed my body and protected Aiden and Jeremiah from being born too soon.  I have never questioned His ability to do that.  What I have questioned- what I have been curious about, is why He didn't.

Many well-intended people have tried to answer this question for me.  I have heard people try to tell me that "it was for the best," but quite honestly, I disagree.  I have been told that "God needed another angel" and again, I don't believe that.  I have grown tired and weary of people trying to explain my grief and pain away because they couldn't stand to just say:  I don't know why this happened.

I am learning that there is a very safe place with the Lord where we don't have to have all of the answers.  God is perfectly capable of revealing Himself.  I don't need to try to fill and the gaps- and you don't either.  I believe that the gaps are there to serve as opportunities to lean into Him despite the gaps being there.

-------------------------------

I will lean on God despite the loss of my sons.  Their seasons of life were cut short and I will continue to grieve the loss of what my boys would have been.  I know that they will not come back to me.  But I know that God has gifted us with the rest of the story.

I wholly believe that He is real.

I believe that he is working everything in my life, and yours, for good.

I believe He can.

I find comfort knowing that I am walking a road that leads to Him and to our precious boys.

No, they won't return to us.

But one day, not so far from now, we will go to them.

------------------------------

I believe that God can and does perform miracles around us every day.  On the day that Jeremiah was born, I had been active in prayer conversation with God.  I prayed that He would stop my labor and heal my body.  I prayed that my child would be protected.  I prayed to God that I would not have to say hello and good-bye to my child in a single day- again.

Although my prayers were not answered in the way that I wanted them to be, I still believe that God was with me on that day and continues to be with me.  Every single day.  Every moment of my life.

Not why, but how?

A natural part of the grieving process is asking the big, fat 'WHY' question.  Why did my little boys have to die?  Why have I had to bury not one, but two little boys?  Why wasn't I taken instead  Why me?  Why our family?  And on and on and on... 

After the loss of our first son, I think I definitely went through a period of time where I was angry and I asked, screamed, and pleaded with God and asked Him WHY?  Why did my son die before he even had a chance to live?  I think I knew deep down there would never be an answer to this question but it felt good at the time to ask and it released some anger at God.

I learned that I had to let go of the ‘WHY’ and find a way to peace and contentment in my mind and my heart. I had to start moving and keep moving forward and not get stuck in my grief knowing there was not ever going to be a satisfying answer to the WHY questions.

Over the years since the loss of our first son, my relationship with God has carried me through my darkest days.  My faith encourages me to keep moving on even though I don't understand and, on this side of heaven, I don't believe that I will ever fully understand the reasons for the grief that I have faced in this lifetime. 

I've learned to trust- not blindly, but hopefully.

I trust that God is working on me, in me and through me.  He is beside me with every step I take.  And as the poem goes, when I am unable to walk, it is then that He carries me.

-------------------------------

Once I accepted and understood that there was no answer that would satisfy WHY, I had to start asking a different question...  How?

I have been thown back on this tumultuous path of grief and I am trying to, again, get back to asking more hope-filled questions.  I know that the WHYs will never be answered.  My faith redirects my why questions and refocuses them into how questions.

How can I make Aiden and Jeremiah's lives and deaths mean something?
How can I honor their lives?
How can I leave a legacy for my little boys who never got to laugh or cry?
How can I move forward and feel better about myself and my life?
How can I help others who are suffering?

How, how, how instead of why, why, why?

-----------------------------

I so badly want to get to asking the HOW questions,  But in today's moments, I am not quite there- not fully atleast.  I still feel numb. 

At times I catch myself staring blankly throughout the day.  The emptiness somehow seems more bearable that letting my imagination run free.  Part of me wishes I could just close my eyes and imagine my boys, all four of them, walking hand and hand with me.   But at the same time, I am so afraid to let my mind go there. To really visualize what I will never have is... heartbreaking and scary.

I've developed a shield around me that enables me to get through my days.  The tears come less and less, but they are right there- knocking on my wounded door.  Ready to come through at any moment.

I am surviving.  But I am not thriving. 

I just don't know how you do that after burying two sons.

-------------------------------

I do know that I am able to see more joy around me everyday. 

Last month I was driving in the car and I noticed the sun.  Imagine that?  Something that most definitely has been here every day in the months since Jeremiah died.  But, for the first time in many months, I really noticed it.  I noticed its brightness and its warmth.  I'm noticing the flowers in bloom.  The birds chirping.  The green grass growing. 

Joy is finding its way back into my life and my heart.

Each tender kiss from Gabe, I cherish.  Each inquisitive question from Gavin, I embrace.  I hold on to these moments. 

And I hope you hold on to these beautiful moments in your life too.