Grief

Tuesday was one of those days when the impact of the loss slams you in the chest, full force. The recall of a song that reminds me of my daughter brought on the tears. Then the weight of pain and grief felt especially heavy. I sobbed. I felt as though the pressure of all this pain in my heart would make it explode into pieces, never to be mended. 


I drove to the memorial park where Lydia is buried. Again, angry that I would have to be visiting there at all. Lying on the ground by her grave, I ached with the emptiness I feel with her absence. So much hurt and pain. So many questions. I could not, perhaps would not, find any solace in prayer or the hope of seeing her again in heaven. Right then the weight of the loss was too great to see beyond it. Some days are like that. Thankfully, other days I am able to find some peace or joy. 


I miss my baby girl so much.  

A Name

Last week I visited Lydia's grave. The first thought that struck me when I looked down at her gravestone was I don't want her name here. 


You may plan, hope, expect your child's name to be on the school honor role, a sport's trophy, a piano recital, a valedictorian plaque, a diploma. And there are places you do not hope to find your child's name. This is definitely one of those places: a gravestone. I know death is inevitable (unless Christ returns before He calls us home), however, you don't expect to be the one seeing (picking out and writing) your child's gravestone. You don't expect to sit beside the stone marking their grave and weep. That should be left to your child's children and grandchildren. 


These were some of my thoughts as I sat in the grass, staring at my daughter's name. The questions became prayers. Why, God? Why is her name here instead of anywhere else? 


Immediately, the words to the song, "Before the Throne of God Above" came to my mind: 


My name is graven on His hand, my name is written on His heart 


I think I had already been crying up to this point, but this definitely brought on the tears. Immediately curious as to the Biblical reference from which the lyrics had come, I searched for these words in the Bible. The first verses I found came from the book of Isaiah. 

"Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth;

break forth, O mountains, into singing!

For the Lord has comforted his people

and will have compassion on his afflicted

But Zion said, 'The Lord has forsaken me; 

my Lord has forgotten me.'

'Can a woman forget her nursing child, 

that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?

Even these may forget, 

yet I will not forget you.

Behold I have engraved you on the palms of my hands'"

Isaiah 49:13-16

I found this Scripture comforting. And it's location in the Bible significant. We have chosen the name Isaiah for our son. I have long liked the name; Isaiah is my favorite book in the Old Testament (perhaps the entire Bible). The name Isaiah means, "Yahweh is Salvation". Such a wonderful truth. 

A name is important. It's meaning, how it is used, how it is spoken, where it is found. My Lydia's name may be on a gravestone, but most importantly her name is written in the book of life of the Lamb who was slain. Graven on His hand, written on His heart. 

Baby Clothes

   During the weekend visit before Christmas to my in-laws, I went through the clothes, blankets, toys, and crib bedding my mother-in-law and sister-in-law had bought for Lydia. I know some mothers return most or all of the items bought for their child after his/her stillbirth; some repaint the nursery immediately; some let other children use the items. I can understand if some moms find their baby's things too painful to keep. For me, I have kept everything. 

   I enjoy looking at her things, even though it is often accompanied with pain. Each item was specifically picked with her in mind. They are her things and I could not dream of departing with them by returning them to a store or giving them away. I would let another of my children use them, we would have done that anyways. But not a stranger. Not when everything related to her is sacred to me. 

   Yes, I feel sad looking at these cute outfits, knowing I will never dress her in any of them. I think about what she might have been wearing today--how different our lives would be!