Patty is unselfishly asking for prayers, for her children especially, as the whole family suffers the loss of their little one. Please pray for them. Please offer any sacrifices you can for their healing and comfort. Patty is a brave woman and stronger than she believes, I know, but this is still a heavy burden to carry and much heavier when seen through the heart eyes of your children.
God of mercy,
we celebrate the feast of Mary, the sinless mother of God.
May her prayers help us to rise above our human weakness. Amen.
I don't know how to begin. I have a secret I've been keeping, holding dearly in my heart, sharing only with my sweetheart and some sweet prayer warriors. Last time I held something so small and yet so huge this close, I was terrified. But then terrifyingly wonderful turned to achingly miserable in a very short period of time.
We were heartbroken. The children were heartbroken. The world looked and felt a little gray for a while.
Then came this past Advent when I prayed for a mystical rose from St. Therese, placed myself in the hands of Our Blessed Mother most amiable and blossoms in pink and white exploded outside my door all through the great feast of Our Lord's birth and beyond. Next came the rich colors of gold and earthy brown along with the sensuous spices of Epiphany; from the Greek... epiphaneia. Manifestation... to make known. This epiphany brought with it a drop of pure sunshine in the bitter cold as the news of a new soul was made known to us.
We were, of course, anxious. We've been disappointedbefore. But with this manifestation, something else was made known, a gift in the form of a whisper... it's gonna be alright. God is good always. Whatever happened, in sorrow or in joy, we truly believed... it was going to be alright.
It began as a whisper in my head that became the beating of my heart. I heard it in my most anxious moments when tears burned and lungs gasped. I heard it from my sweetheart when he knew I needed it most. I heard it from the mouths of my prayer guardians as they lifted me up when I felt low. I needed them to pray for me. I found my prayers were not really prayers at all, but demands. A honey-do list of my willfulness. I stopped praying. I started listening. And after a few more fretful weeks, those words were spoken out loud to us, sitting in that office, the same office where there were once tears of sorrow... now tears of gladness. This baby is dancing, just wiggling for joy, with a heart full of hope beating just for us! It's gonna be alright!
(I'm not going to force it on you but if you've never heard this song, please take a listen. I have been listening to it quite a bit and hope you find it as inspiring.)
P.S. Our appointment was supposed to be last Thursday, but the ice and snow kept us at home and, perhaps, affected my temperament just a bit. :)
Your prayers were heartening and encouraged me through the day! Our Lord provided many a distraction yesterday with my sweet and funny children and most importantly, a quiet moment alone with my husband and my tears. I needed that more than anything.
A sweet friend also dropped off some of God's most cheerful creations along with some soothing tea and a prayer of consolation.
Thank you, friends!
And to all of you suffering your own pangs of loss, quietly or with friends, you are in my prayers today!
We aren't doing much that is special for the day. You see, this is the day that my mind believed I would be having a baby.
I know that sounds silly. No one can know with certainty what day a child will be born, especially a child who is now in Heaven. But each of my four children here on earth were born exactly nine days after their due date. That includes the two who were "induced" and the two who weren't. Even the one who's due date was recalculated a couple of different times. Nine days exactly! So last spring, when the the test turned pink, the first thing I did was calculate my due date and add nine days. And then I placed this picture of St. Juan Diego very prominently in my room and started saying the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Today is that day and my body (or rather, my anxiety level) has been warning me all week of it's impending arrival. Unexplained crying, anxiousness, and restlessness heralded the nearing time. I was not surprised. The body and soul are separated only through death. When the soul hurts, the body responds no matter what activities are now scheduled on the calendar for the day.
I wasn't going to write this post. I've started and deleted it multiple times. There are so many others out there who have suffered through greater grief and in many ways I don't feel worthy to compare my suffering to theirs. But I just couldn't keep this pain secret because there might be someone else out there wondering if their expression of the same kind of pain is normal. Personally, I have tried to embrace that "normal" is only a setting on my dryer, but for lack of a better word, yes... it's normal... for me. It might be normal for you, too.
...for Kate Wicker who is dealing with the sorrowful letting go of a precious little soul that was so loved here on earth too briefly, but who now knows only love for eternity.
My Lord, the baby is dead!
Why, my Lord—dare I ask why? He will not hear the whisper of the wind or see the beauty of his parents’ face—he will not see the beauty of Your creation or the flame of a sunrise. Why, my Lord?
“Why, My child—do you ask ‘why’? Well, I will tell you why.
You see, the child lives. Instead of the wind he hears the sound of angels singing before My throne. Instead of the beauty that passes he sees everlasting Beauty—he sees My face. He was created and lived a short time so the image of his parents imprinted on his face may stand before Me as their personal intercessor. He knows secrets of heaven unknown to men on earth. He laughs with a special joy that only the innocent possess. My ways are not the ways of man. I create for My Kingdom and each creature fills a place in that Kingdom that could not be filled by another. He was created for My joy and his parents’ merits. He has never seen pain or sin. He has never felt hunger or pain. I breathed a soul into a seed, made it grow and called it forth.”
I am humbled before you, my Lord, for questioning Your wisdom, goodness, and love. I speak as a fool—forgive me. I acknowledge Your sovereign rights over life and death. I thank You for the life that began for so short a time to enjoy so long an Eternity.
I am re-posting this from last year because this piece means even more to me now than it did last year, being only a couple of months removed from our recent loss and still without anything meaningful to say. The world has moved on, I have tried to focus my attentions elsewhere, but my heart is still sore.
The sun was shining brightly this morning as we cruised down the highway, everyone happily bobbing along. Dressed in our best, we were headed out to go offer our best to the Perfect Father and thank him for the gift of the father with us. I whispered, “Happy Father’s Day” to the strong, handsome man beside me. He responded in hushed tones so as not to disturb the merry chattering behind us, “Four times over… plus one.”
Plus one.
Blissful basking is quickly clouded by the bitter sting of shared pain. I am suddenly grateful for the bright rays of the early morning sun that necessitated the dark shades now hiding the tiny pools collecting behind them. Concentrating on the road and not letting those pools become rivers, I hear a sniff and see his hand raise to his eyes. I don’t want to spoil the mood with the heavy feelings in my heart of the blessing we have yet to meet but his words, his hands and his eyes have released the dam and let the tears flow.
Five years later, how can the wound be so fresh that the smallest little pick peels back the scab? Do wounds of the heart ever heal? Perhaps. Maybe some. Not this one, I suspect. A precious soul, one whose absence we feel so keenly, can't be reduced to a thin red line that slowly fades to white. The space that missing someone leaves behind aches like a phantom limb.
He looks at the 5 year-old version of himself sitting behind us singing a favorite song. We are both thankful for that gift which would not be here without the loss of the other according to the cycles of biology set in motion many moons ago. I am thankful for the gift of him who isn't afraid to say "plus one" and who isn't too busy being a big man to mourn for that tiny one.
Only You can answer our why’s. Only You can answer our prayers. Only You can soothe our souls. Thank you, dear Father!
I am popping in here quickly just to ask for specific prayers today at 8 am (CST). Thank you all for your kind words and prayers and the peace that those graces have provided!
You know, my husband sometimes tells the story of a Franciscan priest he knew who was desperately running to catch a bus. He made it up the steps just before the doors closed shut behind him and plopped down exhausted, proclaiming loudly, "God is good!" A little old lady sitting next to him smiled and said, "Yes... and He would be just as good if you didn't catch the bus!" It's a funny anecdote for a serious subject to follow. Forgive me.
What is it about our fallen human nature that only rejoices in His goodness when things go our way? An unexpected refund arrives in the mail... God is good! A friend shows up with a plate of cookies... God is good!
Cookies or not, God is always good.
Today especially, I will try to remember that God is good. In light of tragedy and sadness, God is good. In light of losing a little one who's face we will not know this side of Heaven. God is good. In light of still carrying that tiny heart that we never once had the pleasure of watching beat. God is good. In light and in shadow, in sunshine and in rain...
in heartbreak...
in sorrow...
in pain...
God is good.
Blessed be God forever.
We beg your prayers as we go through the painful process of letting our little one go.
