We continue to grieve and move on, and grieve some more, and process all that's happened. Naomi and I read a book together called "What Was Lost" that was helpful, mostly in confirming we were on the right track. Last night we began a devotional book aimed at parents who've gone through this, and we expect this will be helpful too.
More about us in a minute...
It's been strange watching Brennan handle all this. Neither of us feels especially well equipped to help him understand this, in part because we don't really know how much he can understand at 4 years old. There have been little moments though that tell us that he has been affected by it. Last week he was playing with an older boy who asked him if he had a sister, and he said that no, she had died. Earlier this week he picked dandelions in the yard and gave them to Naomi, saying that they were for the baby (to replace the flowers we'd received from friends that had withered and been discarded). For the better part of a week he's been carrying around "baby monkey", swaddled in one of his blankets. He has a big stuffed monkey that has always been his favorite. Baby monkey looks just like it but is about 1/5 the size. He's never paid it much mind before, but now baby monkey is hardly ever out of his hands. These brief glimpses into his heart have been very sweet and heartbreaking for us.
We named our baby Ella, in large part because it contains the Hebrew word for God ("El") and she is our daughter with God. Her death has become a line of demarcation in our lives. I think of things in terms of B.E. (before Ella) and A.E. (after Ella).
Before Ella I was vaguely aware of the lack of suffering either Naomi or I had faced. We've had hard times and trials and lost some friends and relatives, but I never felt it was anything really life altering. Again, the key word here is "vague". I couldn't put my finger on what was missing, but I felt something was.
Now I know what it was. We've never hurt like this before, and in that hurt we've discovered a lot about ourselves, our God and the community around us.
Naomi and I have discovered a new level of intimacy. We've shared this whole experience. That's not to say we've experienced it the same way, but we've gone through it together and it's bonded us like nothing else.
It's also significant that we share a faith and that faith has led us to a God who is familiar with our suffering. He's a God who has also lost a child. He is a God who has promised to defeat death and put an end to tears. He did not cause this to happen, as some would say. It's just part of living in a fallen, broken world. Death was never the plan. Death came in through Adam and it goes out through Christ, when the time comes it will be done away with forever. All things will be made right. And on that day we will dance with Ella and hold her -- all that was lost will be found again.
This makes me long for heaven, and it has had that effect on Naomi too. I have to admit that, before Ella, heaven didn't hold an appropriate appeal for me. It sounded nice, but so did here. I liked earth. I liked life. I was in no hurry to move on. Heaven can wait. It can still wait, but it's different now. I will be patient, but I am eager and expectant. A portion of my heart was removed when Ella died, and she took it with her to eternity. I won't be whole again until I'm with her and our Lord.
This all feels right and good ... as it should be. We were meant for more than this world can offer. A part of our heart should be elsewhere, because this is not our home. It's so easy to love the world and to have the illusion of satisfaction in it. To fall out of love with the world is good and right and necessary, but not easy. When Ella died our love affair with the world died with her. I hope that it never comes back to life. In this place of longing for eternity, I want to stay until it is time for me to join her there.
How can others have this same feeling without the accompanying loss? Is that even possible?
The promises in Scripture about the new order of things and how the last enemy to be defeated is death came alive for me in the last three weeks. Similarly, many of the images of the church have too. Our community has been amazing. First and foremost are all the mothers who have suffered this kind of loss before us. So many have come forward to grieve with us and offer their compassion. And that's what it is -- compassion. They have suffered with us. So many, and most of them we had no idea about. Even if we knew they'd gone through one or more miscarriages, we just didn't think it was that big a deal. I guess nobody does until they go through it. It's like some kind of silent club. Only those who are members understand and they don't really talk about it with non-members.
One of my goals is to change that a little -- to bring some of this into the light and talk about it. I also hope and pray that God will allow us to be a comfort to those who will go through this, just as we've been comforted by so many who've gone before us. It's happened once already and it was such a sweet thing.
Our wider church community has also been wonderful. Strangers have brought us meals. We've been prayed for, encouraged, listened to. They've been silent when they needed to be silent and always had appropriate things to say when they spoke. They've been the love of Christ incarnate to us -- just as the Church should be. I am so grateful for this community, and our extended community of friends and family members across the U.S. and the world. We have been held up by many hands.
We have seen the church at work. We have seen the Word come alive. We have set our sights on eternity. We are more of what we are meant to be because of what we have lost.
Our hearts are broken, and yet full. We are full of sorrow, but also hope and, sometimes even joy. For we know what lies ahead and who: Ella, but even more importantly, the Maker of it all; the One who heals and restores.
To Him be the glory, come what may.
