'Til Death Do Us Part

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, and we celebrated our love for our family and friends. We exchanged gifts like chocolate candy, roses, balloons, teddy bears, and the like. Some people were "lucky" enough to get jewelry, maybe even a diamond ring. I think I heard that 1 out of every 10 proposals is made on Valentine's Day, so quite a few people got engaged yesterday. In several months time they will have their wedding and stand before their family and friends, promising to love each other for better or worse, for rich or poor, in sickness and in health, until death do them part. And they will kiss and smile the biggest smile of their lives thus far, then walk down the aisle giddy with excitement as they start their new adventure together as husband and wife.

Yes, yesterday was a day of ooey-gooey chocolate-covered, rose-petaled mushiness. Unless you celebrated Singles Awareness Day...but even then you can celebrate your close friendships and let the people closest to you know how much you appreciate them.

Whatever the case may be, I didn't want to "ruin" yesterday's love fest with my less than happy thoughts that were running through my head and try to dampen my spirit. I kept myself as busy as possible with Coralyn, packing the day full of various heart activities to make the day as fun as I could for her. I want her to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love her, and yesterday that was evidenced by all the construction paper we cut and decorated, all the stickers we stuck, the books we read, the songs we sang, the dances we danced, the special food we ate - including not one but two scoops of peanut butter ice cream with fudge ripples and chocolate covered peanuts.

Now that Valentine's Day has come and gone, I feel like I can express my emotions and do my best to try to make sense of what has been going on in my heart and mind the past two days. I can try to grapple with another, completely different meaning of "until death do us part."

Monday morning, Coralyn and I were happily making Valentine's cookies for our neighbors. I was snapping pictures of her trying to stick the entire mixer thingy in her mouth so that she could eat every last bit of cookie dough. She was covered in flour from head to toe (having her wear black pants that morning wasn't the best idea). Lawrence had the day off from school due to the snow, and he was in the living room with Kellah, enjoying her ooos and aaas and precious baby smiles. It was one of those kairos moments, where you want to freeze time and fully enjoy what is happening, taking in everything and locking it away in your stash of priceless memories.

Then the phone rang. It was my mom. Unfortunately she wasn't calling to let me know about a score from basketball game or that something had sold really well on ebay or that someone I knew was getting married. Oh no, quite the opposite. She had sad news, terrible news, horrific news that you never want to hear, ever. A friend from high school (and college) had lost her baby boy. He simply didn't wake up that morning. They didn't know what had happened for sure, but he was gone. Gone. He was only four and a half months old!

Things like this aren't supposed to happen. Especially not to someone you know. But it does happen, and this time I didn't hear about it on the news. It wasn't some stranger from some far off place. It was someone I went to school with, played sports with, did forensics with, studied with, experienced Chicago with, and so on. And to make it hit even closer to home, her baby boy was just months older than my baby girl.

I remember being at Judy's wedding. I remember congratulating her and Ernesto. Coralyn was just two months old at the time. She wore a red velvet dress since the wedding was around Christmas time. I remember Judy smiling at Coralyn and saying how she couldn't wait to be a mommy herself.

Well, Judy's wish came true and she had a happy, healthy baby boy. Judah Ernesto was born on September 17, 2011. I loved seeing pictures of her little man on facebook. He was absolutely adorable. Life was good.

And then Monday morning happens.

What in the world was God thinking?

Why would He allow such a thing to happen?

What is the point of taking a baby from his parents, especially one so young?

What good can possibly come out of such a tragedy?

How can He have planned this before time began?

Why would He create life only to take it away so quickly?

How is this fair? It's not! Not at all! There are people who don't want or love their children, who abuse them even. Why doesn't God take those children? Why does He allow them to remain in such an awful situation and then take away a baby who was wanted and dearly, dearly loved?! It makes absolutely no sense. None at all.

WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!

I feel like I have had to ask this question far too often.

A friend grieves as his mother loses the battle against cancer.

Another friend loses her husband in a tractor accident.

Another friend is killed when she is riding her bike and gets hit by a car.

Yet another friend loses her baby to cancer.

A friend has a miscarriage, and then another.

A student loses her baby, at 32 weeks gestation, just one week after they finished taking my childbirth classes.

I could go on, but what is the point?

Every time something like this happens, I want to know WHY. Why did God allow this to happen and how He is going to "work all things together for good" for these people who "love Him and are called according to His purpose?"

And each time there is no answer. Except silence. At least that is how I feel.

I am getting tired of bad things happening, especially to people I know. And as more and more bad things happen, I get scared that next time it won't just be someone I know...it will be ME.

And it was me when we miscarried and lost our baby in 2010. That was hard, really hard. BUT, God was faithful, and He did use that terrible situation for His glory, and my ultimate good. Yes, I will always think about my loss and wonder "what if" as I dream about what my baby would have looked like, what his/her personality would have been, what he/she would have become as he/she grew up. At the same time God has brought healing. He has replaced my tears with joy; He has turned my mourning into dancing. He has graciously given us Kellah (not to mention Coralyn) to fill my time (and heart), to create special memories with, to treasure and enjoy.

I think that is what makes the news from this phone call even harder though. To lose someone you never knew is one thing, but to lose a precious child you had held and kissed and laughed with is quite another.

I can't imagine.

Nor do I don't really want to imagine, ever, the pain and sadness Judy must be feeling.

The other day at church my friend Jeanne was carrying Kellah around. Coralyn was home sick with Lawrence. And so my hands were free and my arms were empty. I didn't quite know what to do with myself. I felt lost. Take that feeling and multiply it by a million billion gazillion, and I might get close to understanding what Judy is experiencing. I am sure there were baby clothes to be washed, and she will find them when she goes to do laundry. Or she will happen upon a bib or burp cloth that got hidden under the couch. Or she'll walk by his nursery and see an empty crib. All around her will be memories of her baby boy.

Little Judah was only four and a half months old. That just seems cruel to give a mother a baby for such a short time, just long enough to fall madly in love, not to mention feel like she is finally getting the hang of the whole mommy thing in the first place. Again, I ask, no scream, WHY?!

Not only that, I hold my own children a little bit closer. I give them more hugs, more kisses. I tell them, "I love you," every five minutes, or so it seems. I fear losing them. I worry that something bad will happen to one, or both, of them. But, as Lawrence reminded me on Monday as I was crying on his shoulder, I can't live in fear. I can't allow myself to be overwhelmed with all the "what if's" of life. I simply have to enjoy the time I am given with my precious girls, however long that may be. And since I don't know how many days are written in their books of life, I just have to be thankful for the day at hand. What's more, I have to remember to keep things in perspective.

Coralyn's whiny voice means she is alive and well. So does her asking me to wipe her nose, for the 10,000th time. Or her coming out of her room during nap time with yet another ridiculous reason (there's dirt in her toes, for example).

Kellah's cries, at 2 am, mean she is alive and well. So do her dirty diapers, even the ones that "explode" and require a sponge bath before redressing her.

And so since I hung up the phone on Monday morning, I have been trying not to get agitated or frustrated or upset at such things. Instead, I have reminded myself how blessed I am, how thankful I should be that my hands are full and my arms anything but empty. Each time I do, I say a prayer for Judy and Ernesto as well, that God would wrap His arms of love around them, that they would feel His strength and be overwhelmed with His peace.