Resurrection Sunday happened to fall on my husband and my anniversary this year. We spent the weekend together, enjoying this rare time that my husband was not constantly working on something (graduate school comes with a ridiculous amount of work and commitment).
Sunday we visited the site where our daughter is buried. While there I felt the need to do something for Easter for her grave, so we went to the store to find something to place there for our girl. Part of me felt it kind of silly considering she is continually able to celebrate in heaven with Christ, but I had to do something.
At church that evening a well-intentioned woman turned to greet me and said excitedly that next Easter we would have a baby with us. I smiled, but thought this Easter we should have our baby with us. Another holiday we had thought would have Lydia here, but she is not with us.Today I went to the Christian bookstore to search for a book I have been wanting to read, but had not yet purchased. I had to ask for assistance in locating the book and when the saleswoman handed it to me reading the book title, Safe in the Arms of God: truth from heaven about the death of a child, brought on the tears. I am curious if the woman thought the book was for me, but she asked no questions. I cried on my drive home, began to read the book, producing further tears. It was a self-pity crying initially, crying because I had personal reason to read a book on this subject. Then I felt the pain and loss, feeling the emptiness of the house and my arms and the continual ache in my heart
How do I say this? What do I share? Mornings like this cries and wails and banging on the wall is how I grieve. This coming Sunday will be nine months since her stillbirth. Yes, much healing and change has occurred, yet this pain, always this pain and sorrow.
I am looking forward to reading this book. I flipped and skimmed through some pages and have already read encouraging truth. Safe in the arms of God. That is where my baby is.