“Out of the depths I call to you, Lord! Lord, listen to my voice; let your ears be attentive to my cry for help.”
If you would ask me what it feels like to lose your baby… I would say it’s like sailing on a boat, and at first the weather is nice and it is peaceful on the boat. The wind is blowing gently through your hair and you can breathe in deep of sweet aromas from all around you. Then suddenly you hit an unseen, ginormous object and it violently throws your body off the boat. You smack into the ocean water and your body is paralyzed. You start to sink and you can see the sunlight fading away. You sink until there is only darkness and you hit the bottom of the ocean. You cannot breathe, you gasp for air but there is nothing to breathe in except water. You feel the immense pressure of the water crushing you, squeezing the life out of you but for some reason you are still alive. Gasping for air that is not there. All you want is to desperately get out of the abyss but you are paralyzed from the jolt of that ginormous wreck. Sounds like a bad dream right? You want to so badly wake up from this nightmare and to get back to the sun and gentle breeze but all there is, is darkness and silence. I am living in this nightmare.
It has been two weeks of being in this uncharted territory in the depths of my soul, I feel like an outsider in my own body. My old world is falling apart…and a new one is coming up. I did not want my new world to be like this, yet this is what it is. I have so many questions, why did God allow this to happen? And why now? But those questions do not help the fact my baby is gone. So I lament in this in between space. Adriel Booker describes this “place” perfectly… “Lament invites us to a liminal space. The word liminal connotes the idea of a threshold—a space between what was and what will be. The implication is a moving forward into something new, but not without first being transformed by the in-between. Liminal spaces feel disorienting because they are.” Being in the in-between does not feel good. It is frustrating and causes me to have wait. I have to trust that this process is good for me even though it hurts terribly bad. I have to trust that God will turn all of this into something beautiful somehow. It is the only hope that I can count on.
I had told God to have his way with my life. To transform my family into the vision he has set for us but by no means did I mean this. This has rocked me to my core. I’m not saying God decided to just take our daughter to “teach” us a lesson but, the reason why she was sick in the first place is simply because sin has corrupted God’s intended perfect world. So God is indeed with us and doesn’t intend to leave us. Ever. So I carry my sorrow and pain to my Heavenly Father. I let him hold it in his arms with me as I weep and long for my little girl. I have no words to speak to him but yet he is still there listening to my cries and my thoughts before I even know how to articulate it.
He is here with me in the depths of my soul. I didn’t know how deep his love was until I learned that my love wasn’t enough to save her. But his was. He saved my little girl, my family and the entire world. An entire world carried to and on the cross and then he died the most painful death just for us to have a chance to have a relationship with him. I would give up my life to save my children in an instant but I would never want to give up my child to save the world…but I had no choice in the matter, all I had was trust. I had to trust God that he would be with us through the depths of my worst fear…and maybe having to let her go saves us?
So, I have not come up for air yet but I know I will be able to one day. I cannot let go of the One that saved me, and I know he is to my rescue and when I am ready…I will resurface. But right now I will remain in the depths, in my sorrow because of the longing to hold her again. To smell her scent and kiss her soft skin. Oh how I wish I could have spent more time with her and squeezed and held her longer…I will long for that day until my days here are numbered.
“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,””