We are Jedidiah.

If a marble displaces a cup of water proportionate to its mass, how much does theloss of a child displace his loved ones? I am displaced.  I don’t fit in.  As friends extend sympathy, I seem out-side myself as we speak.  When my boys want a hug, I sense that I can’t breathe for want of holding them closer, yet, it must be another’s arms that are around them for the distance I feel from them.  While my husband embraces me, I am a lost puppy that can’t get enough attention.  Others reach out, they only want to help, but they can’t.  Even if they have “been there.”  I am displaced.

I just received a phone call from Vanderbilt’s pediatric billing office.  They wanted to know if we would be adding Jedidiah to our insurance.  I had to say, “Jedidiah died later that same day.” She was so shocked and apologetic.  It is their policy to wait until they verify a child is added to the insurance before billing in order to avoid problems for the family with all the insurance red tape, rejections, etc.  It is a good policy.  But…

I want to throw something.  I am not mad at her.  I have wanted to throw things many times in the past five and a half weeks.  Anger at a specific person has never been the reason.  Anger in general is not really the reason either, although I feel angry sometimes.  The reason is release.  There is no full release of the emotions I feel.  There is no safe place to release all that I feel.  I don’t truly know what I feel; if I begin to release it, there is no telling what the room would end up looking like.  I know that many others have been able to get through the loss of a child with much more grace and calm than I, but I don’t feel graceful or calm.  I have a peace from God that Jedidiah’s life was planned from beginning to end and that I was honored to carry and birth him, but I did not carry or birth him with grace or calm, nor am I grieving him with grace or calm.  I feel like I am about to explode.

A lost child follows his mother all her life.  (paraphrase from The Forgotten Garden)

If that is true, will I feel incomplete for the rest of my earthly life?  Even mamas who have lost one of their own say that it gets easier.  What gets easier?  Hearing the word pregnancy, baby, infant, family?  Seeing a baby in his mama’s arms?  Wanting to answer the “how many kids do you have” question with the truth?  Having a hole inside me that seems to be getting bigger, not smaller?

I must hold on to God’s truth because otherwise I will drown in the sea of my hurt feelings.  My feelings betray me; they always have, but now they threaten to overtake me and hold fast only to the hurt and confusion and ache and anger.  Instead, I must keep moving, keep hoping, keep loving even when it hurts so much to do so.

Because, the truth is that I am surrounded by love, as was Jedidiah.  I am held and hugged and kissed, as was Jedidiah.  I am treasured and adored, as was Jedidiah.  I am a child of the King, as was Jedidiah.  I have a purpose and ministry, as did Jedidiah.  I have to remember all the lives he touched and all the hope that he brought.

A young friend, the daughter of a friend, made a drawing of the rainbow that she, her family, and many others saw on their way to Jedidiah’s life celebration.  How wonderful to know that even a month later that the rainbow God sent that night is in her young memory and that she reached out after all this time to be His servant and love me through her art.

A lost child follows his mother all her life.

I have been keeping busy, on purpose.  When I am busy, I might think of something about Jedidiah, but there is much to do and I am able to shut off my brain.  When I am not busy, the pain and grief become too much to bear, and I do not want to write and revisit the pain.  Of course, writing has always helped in the past and it would be good to get back to it, but I don’t want to be a puddle on the floor all the time, and, for some reason, the last few days have been so hard.

Babies every time I turn around.  Their soft skin and sweet smiles.  Baby clothes to sort, knowing the only gown I ever got to put on our little boy was after he had taken his last breath and the funeral home assistant had arrived to take his body.  Their little feet, in shoes, out of shoes; shoes Jedidiah will never wear.  Their making messes; he never made a mess.  Truly, I never even changed a dirty diaper.  His little body shut down before it ever got to that.  A mama in a nursing shirt at the shoe store…

The list goes on.  Please pray that our resolve (for Jedidiah’s memory and legacy to have an impact on us and those around us) will not go listing in the sea of chosen forgetfulness to avoid the pain.

May 8 was Jedidiah’s due date.  He came exactly one month early.  He left us exactly one month ago.  And, today is my first Mother’s Day without him.  This is an extremely hard day for me.

I want to focus on the boys.  I want to be all smiles when they wake, but I don’t think I have the strength.  LORD, please give me Your strength today.