By Contributing Writer, Tina Entz
I lay stone still in the darkness, just as I had so many times before. The walls were closing in. The grief within me was suffocating. I wanted to cry out and beg someone out there to hear me, to really understand the agony of my soul. Instead, The house was quiet and dark. It is in moments like these that I have time to think on my little one. The wound is ever so fresh, but I am not a stranger to its sting.
I have been in this place before.
I have had to face my grief when all is hushed and the sun is once again replaced by the moon.
This time Thanksgiving approaches as my heart grieves on. My heart is thankful, but will I be the only one who notices the empty seat around the table this year? The seat that is not visible to anyone but me? My little boy is gone. My living son giggles in my arms, while his twin brother giggles in the arms of Jesus.
Some days it is too much for my mind to grasp. Some days it is too much for my heart to bear. Some nights all I can do is roll over and stifle sobs so as not to wake my sleeping husband. But most days now, I simply find comfort in being able to trust my Heavenly Father on this journey.
The Lord has birthed something anew in both my husband and I on this grief road. Early this morning, after I nursed our infant son back to sleep, my farmer husband picked him up and settled into the rocking chair with him. Suddenly, being late to the fields doesn’t matter so much anymore. He has a tiny son to hold, to kiss, to sing to, before he enters into the world for the day.
I have come into a room and found my husband’s face ever so close to our baby’s face, whispering to him as our baby smiles and coos right back. My husband never enters the room where I nurse the baby without coming close to us both to kiss that soft downy head and to whisper “daddy loves you”. He has always loved his children, yet great loss has taught each of us cherish them like never before.
This time the Lord asked us to hold one baby and let another go, all in the same moment. The pain runs deep, but our baby was worth every ounce of it. We would rather know our baby (and all the babies that we have lost before him) was created in my womb, and have to say goodbye long before we ever imagined, than to have never known him or loved him at all.
So many things matter now. We take notice of things that we never did before. Our priorities have changed. Life will never be the same again. Our baby is a constant and blessed reminder of how beautiful this time of life is. His smile seems to say, “Take time for what matters most!” His eyes beam forth the message to live life and love with no regrets! We know we will not always get it right, but we are so thankful for the life of this child and we WILL do our best.
One baby’s life and one baby’s death. Both will be for the glory of God.
Related posts:
Related posts:
About Tina Entz
Thank you for sharing this touching story. The possibility of losing someone very dear to us is something we all want to keep far from us. And yet, death broadens our life in ways we cannot explain and it draws us closer to the only One Who has comfort and understanding. Life and death are mysteries.
Thanks for sharing–I miscarried Easter weekend this year. Still trying for our first child, and it’s been a long road. It’s hard to believe in the darkest moments, but God really does know what’s best for us. I pray someday He’ll give me the insight to look back and see it.