Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Looking toward the Light

Hard to comprehend that it has been two weeks since we said hello and goodbye to our sweet little man. While I originally thought we were doing so well with everything, I am beginning to second guess myself these last few days. Seems that while life around me has gone back to "normal," I feel anything but. I had one of my hardest times emotionally last night. The ache to hold Elijah and the pain of missing him finally hit me hard. I guess we've been so busy and my mind just hasn't really grasped what has happened until now. I've never known such a deep, desperate kind of pain. While I still hold firm to the hope I have in Christ and the joy of knowing Elijah is healthy and happy in heaven, my heart is broken. I was thinking last night about how ironic it is that I have my "hands full" with two amazing kids, but my arms feel so empty at the same time, without Elijah to hold.

I have also started to feel old insecurities creep up, as I fear that I am sucking the life out of everything and everyone when I feel down. No one has ever made me feel that way, but the enemy is messing with my head, telling me I should be dealing with everything better, and people are going to expect me to be over it already. I know that's a lie. I have the best friends and family, who are nothing but supportive. It simply stinks to have to mess with these attacks while I'm coping with everything else. Maybe you could join me in praying against the lies and attacks of Satan.  

On a more positive note, the kids and I have truly enjoyed his beautiful weather. We spent time at the park and picnicking with friends yesterday, and today, I filled up their sand table.  While they played, I soaked up some sun and did some garden therapy. Honestly, there is something so therapeutic about getting your hands in the dirt.  As I saw all those little green leaves sprouting from the ground, I couldn't help but think of the promise of Spring.  The evidence that God is always at work....He doesn't forget, or miss a beat.  He is faithful to bring us new life after a long, cold winter.  It is the same that I believe He will do with my grief.  It may be a period of darkness, but there is hope of the Light.  His mercies are new every morning, and I am so so thankful. 

1 Peter 5:10

10 And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.

2 comments:

  1. Brittani, I will be praying against Satan's lies and attacks against your mind. May your heart be guarded by the shield of faith, and may the belt of truth always help you discern what is true.

    I cannot imagine that anyone would expect you to ever be "over" the loss of a child. It is something you will carry with you forever. Not that you will always feel the grief in the same way, I imagine.

    Grief and loss for a believer seems to be a paradox: acknowledging and living in the hope God provides but with your heart and mind desperately aware of what you are missing here and now.

    Praying for you,

    Jaena

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  2. Brittani, my heart breaks for you. Even though our situation was different than yours, I relate to what you're feeling.

    After we lost Noah, I remember thinking, "How can the world be going on like everything is normal? I feel like my world has stopped. I don't even know what normal is anymore." It was the worst pain I'd ever felt -- and sometime it still feels fresh. My arms ached just knowing I wouldn't hold Noah.

    While so many were very supportive, we had a few people who seemed to think we should be "over it." Yes, it does get easier with time, but I don't think a parent ever "gets over" the loss of a baby. And I don't think God expects us to. Have you read C.S. Lewis' "A Grief Observed"? In it, he talks about the death of his wife and writes:

    "To say the patient is getting over it after an operation for appendicitis is one thing; after he’s had his leg cut off it is quite another. After that operation either the wounded stump heals or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently, he’ll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has 'got over it.' But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps pretty bad ones; and he will always be a one-legged man. There will be hardly any moment when he forgets it. Bathing, dressing, sitting down and getting back up again, even lying in bed, will all be different. His whole way of life will be changed…. At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall presently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again."

    Elijah is part of who you are now. My friend Julie recently wrote an article for Ungrind about her son Leyton who died in the womb. She talks about how they continue to remember and honor Leyton in it: http://ungrind.org/2012/eternally-engraved/

    Anyway, I love you guys. I'll be praying and let me know if there's anything else I can do.

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