A dear friend recently went through a miscarriage at 8 weeks. I could not, can’t, imagine the feeling. I do know I would be devastated. And a whole lot of silent. And…I just don’t know. And I write this as my little one is tucked in the nook of my underarm, contentedly nursing in her sleep. And I wish it could have been Madeleine (her Rainbow Baby’s name) tucked in whatever comfortable groove of her most deserving Mama.
As awful and unfair as this may seem, God is truly wondrous.
It is so incredibly inspiring to me, the way grace just flows through and over her words like a paintbrush blending and softening the harsh edges of grief. The way she presents her broken heart uninhibited, asking for the prayers of others to lift her and family closer to the arms of the only One who can sustain and heal.
He is wondrous, indeed.
And as I contemplate Grace through grief (with all its stages), God gently informs me that I am grieving.
I am grieving the loss of an ideal. The ideal of how life would be for The Kismet and I. The people that would surround and support. The sense of close family I could offer my little one. Little dysfunction. Lots of wholeness. All lost and seemingly to never come to fruition.
I am grieving and I now realize I am in the stage of Anger. It sneaks up on me periodically. Sometimes there is a trigger, sometimes the quiet is enough to spark an inner outburst. I would chalk it up to fatigue most times because I don’t want to talk about it. And when I acknowledge it in prayer, I don’t want an explanation and a solution. I just want to cry a little and keep being angry because, after all, I am justified in my anger, aren’t I? And besides, Lord, the anger is just a momentary lapse due to the near burnout I’ve been mentioning. And I just don’t want to talk about this right now, God, because I don’t even know what I need.
In God’s giant tapestry, we don’t always know how or where the threads connect. But they connect so profoundly and so beautifully. And though I dare not compare, He (in all His wondrousness) wove the heartache of Madeleine’s Mama into my own.
I am grieving. And I am in need of the prayers of others to lift me closer to the arms of the only One who can sustain and heal. And I need Grace to flow through and over me like a paintbrush blending and softening the harsh edges of grief.