I am reading the text message in front of me: IT IS OVER. It feels as if there is empty corridors in my mind where these words, this reality is floating, not reaching home. Echoes of de-ja-vu is contributing to the confusion, to the shock. I find myself somewhere between the past and the now. Wishing I could be in the beginning before any of this existed. Before I knew this world can be so cruel.
I am trying to convince myself that these words are saying that the worst part is over. The worst pain and trauma of laboring a 18 week old baby who already passed away. The labor is over. But my heart knows better. The road after loss has only begun. The hard-core trimming and molding of character, picking up all the pieces, the training camp has now begun. The joy, excitement and expectations of a new life is over, gone. The vision, the dream is over. So many ends and so many beginnings. This woman’s life will never be the same again. The life that she knew is over. She will never be the same person again. For a moment it feels like I am out of my body, looking back to when it happened to me: when I realized Kaleb has passed away and looking at his limp body was the harsh evidence. My bravery, strength, faith, keeping-it-together feelings were all gone in this moment. I felt like I was the broken person again who was shattered to the floor. Maybe it was all a lie: that one can recover from child loss and that one can be better and stronger because of it. Maybe I am fake. I am desperately trying to make sense of this. I am angry. Very angry. At the world, at God, at the enemy. Why did this have to happen? I have spent almost a year figuring out that my loss could be used by God for something beautiful. But why did someone close to me have to go through this? I never expected that this tragedy could happen again, so close. I remember the look in her eyes when I first saw her after it happened. The look of pain that was rooted so deep. The pain that leaves you isolated and misunderstood, alienated. The pain that rips you apart. I recognized myself in her. My heart felt like crying for her, for what she has lost, for what she has to endure but I couldn’t access any emotion. I was numb. I was emotionally dead. Maybe my body was shutting down because I couldn’t go back to that first few days. My mind switched to fix-it mode. I cannot possibly let someone suffer as I did. So I tried to think of everything that could possibly make it better, more bearable. My mind raced and I was talking a lot and fast. Afterwards I realized I tried to think of a quick-fix recipe. I was trying to give someone a crash course in the lessons I learnt over a year period. I was only frustrating myself and overwhelming this person. I felt like a failure. I couldn’t help. I couldn’t change anything. I couldn’t prevent someone going through the same pain. The sting of loosing a baby got me again. I am reminding myself everyday that it is her journey and not mine. She has to find her own strength and find her new path. As much as I want to spare her, she has to go through this hardship. Maybe there is a reason, maybe not. I have to trust that God is managing her storm as He did mine. I have to trust that I have grown and that she will too. I have to trust that she will survive this. As I am surviving child loss everyday. A few days have passed. I am still in physical pain for her. I still feel frustrated because I cannot make it better. I still feel helpless. And then it hit me. I am still learning, still growing. There will never be an end to this journey while I am on this earth. I am loosing Kaleb again and again. I will loose him again in the future. Every time I see a boy that is the age he would have been, every time I meet another who has lost a child, every time I look at his photo, every time I have to explain I actually have 3 boys and not 2, every time Joshua talks about his brother, every time I work on Joshua’s or Uzziah’s album, every time I see a butterfly or a rainbow. This is the thorn in my flesh. I will never be over loosing my child. This is what will keep me grounded, human, sensitive for others, grateful. This is what will help me to enjoy the little things, understand the pain of another. I am not fake. I am real. I am honest. Some days I am strong and courageous, other days I am not. Some days I can encourage others, some days not. Some days I feel like I have healed, some days I feel I am back to square 1 in my grief. Sometimes I can see the good and God’s grace and His provision, some days not. Some days I have peace, some days not. And this is ok. As for others? I cannot walk their journey for them. I cannot force them to make the right decisions. I cannot make them get help. I cannot fast forward the time for them, even though I want to. But there is something I CAN DO: I can pray that God will protect them and guard their heart, comfort them, make them stronger, provide for them, bless them. If God can do it for me, surely He can do it for everyone.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorNanki Robbertse Archives
December 2017
Categories |