Probably one of the hardest things pastor's wives face is watching those in our churches face loss. I would guess if you've spent any time in ministry, you've experienced the heart rending feeling of standing in a hospital room/funeral home/family home/etc. seeing someone you love and shepherd in a place of total vulnerability. As I write, memories flood my mind...sitting with a bereaved couple looking at baby names that won't be used, crying with another couple as we watch their 2 lb twins struggle for life, trying to help a friend make sense of the anger he experiences over losing his mom to cancer, rushing to the emergency room to feed and comfort children so their mom can make sure their dad is getting the care he needs.
A good friend of mine has had a month of dealing with hell (quite literally). He's a pk who works in the wide open mission field known as the work force. Recently, one of his co-workers lost a 9 month old granddaughter to cancer. His words touched me so deeply, I asked if I could share them with you. He agreed. I'll warn you ahead of time...it's long, but well worth the time to read.
I'm not sure why February has been this way, but it has. What the month has lacked in dreary weather it has made up for in sadness. First it was the lost of a coworker and then, this week, the 9 month old granddaughter of a fellow co-worker, past away after a sudden discovery of cancer, an attempted surgery and many attempts to keep her, Alli, alive. Babies die every day. This fact doesn't make it any easier to deal with but when we have the advantage of space and distance and we can shield ourselves from the pain.
On Thursday night Konnie and I went to visit the family at 'the viewing'. Upon entering the building we immediately saw a video playing, showing slides of little Alli that had been taken in her short 9 months of life. There were flowers, cookies and music playing. It was hard not to tear up even though I had never met little Alli in person. I could feel that space and distance closing in. We then started reading some poems that family members, including the father, had written for Alli. They were all very moving and brought even more tears to our eyes.
Once my friend, Alli's grandpa, came in we hugged and visited with them for a little while. Then we were taken into the room where the body was; where the baby was. This is when the distanced closed and the space around us seemed so close and tight that breathing became difficult. I noticed the photos, the memorabilia and more flowers that were lovingly placed in the small room. There was a bassinet with pillows, blankets and stuffed animals. The bassinet was empty in regards to a body though. At first I was somewhat thankful because I really have a hard time with the death of children. That fact doesn't make me special, it simply makes me human. But as I turned to the right, there was a couch with some people on there. And there they were. The mom was holding what almost looked to be a doll, but it wasn't a doll... it was Alli. She was stroking the babies hair and smiling at her. She then realized people were coming in and said, 'time to lay you down sweetie... I love you so much'. She smiled, she wept... she loved. She loved her little girl.
Writing about this doesn't make any of it easier. It wasn't my child; I had never even met her. But the overwhelming sadness I felt at that moment was undeniable. And it wasn't just me. My sweet wife began crying and I know she was thinking back to when our little Kaden was born and in intensive care for the first week of his life. How close we came to being where this family was.... the space we had and the distance we shared closed.
I spoke to my friend, again, of why I had to believe what i believe about God. I can't believe that this life has no meaning and that there is nothing beyond this life that isn't wonderful. Because if there is no reason that a 9 month old little girl gets cancer and dies, then I'm not sure I can be on board with that sort of cold, brutal universe. When my cousin's 2 year old died in a drowning accident I wrote a blog about Jesus saying 'Let the little children come to me'. It's with a heavy heart that I really need to hear Jesus say 'Let Geoffrey come to me'. I think we all need to hear him say that; to hear our name come from his mouth. I know I hope the family of Alli can hear Jesus calling them to Him. He's ready to hold them. When there is distance and space between you and God you can hide from emotion; you can hide from pain. But you also miss the comfort and love that only He can offer. We need to close the space and distance sometimes because we need to feel. We need to feel hope. We need to feel love. Because we surely feel the pain don't we?
There's nothing more powerful than when these little angels are born. There's nothing more painful than when these little angels die. "Jesus, you mind if we climb on your lap for just a bit and be held?" 'Come to me......'
Thoughts? Anyone, anyone...
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I have a friend whose church just went through the same thing. Here is her blog about it. For someone so young, I think she has great insight into the grieving process. Everyone in ministry should read this before they have to go through the pain with someone. http://theodgersfamily.blogspot.com/2009/02/how-do-i-live.html
ReplyDeleteIt doesn't matter how young or how old your child is when death comes - they will always be your child. My son was 24 and it has been 14 years but still the pain of that time lingers! Here is a poem I wrote the month after he passed away - I titled it "Death".
ReplyDeleteThe call comes in.
The silent ride.
Ever whispering prayers deep inside.
Can it be true?
The mind denies.
But the silent body testifies.
The longest night.
The deepest grief.
Looking for ways to bring relief.
Feeling the pain.
Crying with sorrow.
Nothing but shadows of all tomorrows.
Family gather.
Friends arrive.
All are left to somehow survive.
Blessed peace.
The day is come.
Now is the time to bury our son.
A loss so great.
Count the cost.
One of the brothers now is lost.
Family is gone.
Life goes on.
Someday soon will be a new dawn.
Hope is bright.
Faith is sure.
Our family will once again be secure.
Blackest hour.
Agony breeds.
Our Savior came and met our needs.
Thanksgiving.
Praise.
Resting in Him for all of our days.
Time is a healer as they say but complete healing will not occur until the day we go home to be with our Lord. I know I will see my son again in that day and I praise God for that! Praying with you for this family!! Debbie
It doesn't matter how young or how old your child is when death comes, they are still your child. My son was 24 when he passed away and it has been 14 years - still the pain of that time lingers! Time is a healer as they say but complete healing will not occur until we go home to be with our Lord. I know on that day I will see my son again and I praise the Lord for that. Thank you for sharing about this little one. I also read the blog Jerolyn mentioned in her comment. Needless to say, the tears are flowing for both families as I relive my own pain and KNOW what they are feeling. May God bless all who come along side and help them through this time. We had a great church family (Arcade) that helped us bear the burden and kept pointing us to God!! We never would have made it without our faith, God's comfort, and our church family.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Jerolyn, for the link to the blog.
ReplyDeleteDebbie, thanks so much for your vulnerability and for giving us a peek into thoughts and feelings from a mother who has been there. I've certainly shed my share of tears in following Geoff's account of what was going on through facebook. I simply can't imagine the sorrow and am reminded those are times when only a truly big God can comfort and yet, He chooses to use His people. "God, help me love in reckless abandon, caring more for those You are loving than myself and convenience."
Awesome post, Kiley. I came across this some years ago and in all of my dealings with loss as a Pastor (and a believer) have found it to be largely accurate.
ReplyDelete"I was sitting, torn by grief. Someone came and talked to me of God's dealings, of why it happened, of why my loved one had died, of hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly. He said things I knew were true. I was unmoved, except to wish he'd go away. He finally did.
Another came and sat beside me. He didn't talk. He didn't ask me leading questions. He just sat beside me for an hour and more, listening when I said something, answered briefly, prayed simply, left. I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go."
Joseph Bailey
Great quote, Bill! When my grandpa passed away, several people at the funeral said to me, "You know he was old and had lived a long life." I smiled at them and said, "Yes, thank you." I was thinking, "Well, duh! That doesn't mean I won't miss him." A friend of my dad's drove 4 hours one way for the funeral, sat quietly, drove out to the graveside and then afterward walked up to my dad and said, "Tom, I'm so sorry. I just want you to know I care." That was it. No agenda, no great wisdom. Casey's presence meant more to my dad than all the thoughtless words of many well meaning people. I learned a lesson that day.
ReplyDelete