Ok, I start with that title because I feel like that disclaimer is needed anytime I talk about “surviving” the loss of a child. So many times I have been told, “I don’t know how you are surviving. I wouldn’t be able to live through this” or something with the same basic idea. If I answer that person honestly, they interpret my answer wrong—hence the need for the disclaimer. For those of you that have felt this pain, you will understand that to say the things I am going to say. I want to be reunited with my child. I don’t desire nor intend to do myself any harm.
“Surviving” the loss of a child, first of all, happens even though you want to not. Believe me, I didn’t think I would “live” through such a loss either. I told Michael time and again that I wouldn’t make it. I couldn’t breathe through the loss of one of mine. Physically, I just knew I wouldn’t make it. I can barely make it through a day without them. I like my children close. I like to see them, smell them, touch them. I enjoy them. They are my life in so many ways. My assumption was that I clearly wouldn’t make it through. You hear these stories of mothers dying of heartbreak only a few excruciating months after they bury their child. I thought I would be one of those. I am jealous of them now.
It was on the evening of April 11th when my body first betrayed what my heart told it to do. My broken heart told it to stop breathing, but it didn’t. My broken heart said, let me rest and be with her again, but no go. My body continued. On many days, I survive because my body is stuck in this pattern of betrayal to my heart and desire. It just keeps breathing. I might be gasping, but the breath continues to come.
I have wrestled with God. I have had deep, painful, roll in the mud wrestles with God over the past few months. I have argued and complained. I have questioned and criticized. But I have also felt drawn to Him in an intimate way that I can’t even express. I have heard Him. I have felt Him. I haven’t liked it frequently, but He is here with me. I have argued that I need to be with her. She is my blessing. He has argued back that she is fine. I am still blessed and that they need me now.
At one point, before, I also thought I wouldn’t survive this pain. If I had only known…the pain is so much worse than I ever imagined, but here I am still. I have wished many times that my body wouldn’t have betrayed me that day or on the many days that followed where my heart cried out again and again that it was ready for reunion. I still have those days. Know that I don’t survive on my own nor do I survive because it is easy. I survive because I have no other choice sometimes. I look forward to heaven in a way I never did before. I don’t have all the answers, but while I am stuck here waiting, because my body keeps me here, I want to keep sharing what God is teaching me and the things Abigail has shown me…until I meet her again and come into His presence, which is the deepest desire of my heart.