Hope

I think about that mom who lost her child not even a week ago ...and I remember.  I've said before there are no human words that capture the depths of that time ...even moments, but only moments, now.  For a time though it is only darkness ...no air, no light ...no hope.  There is no direction that is best, no direction to go in.  You can't be still, yet you cannot rest.  It is the agony of being skinned alive ...and truly, death seems imminent.  How will you possibly survive? 
I think about that mom ...so grateful to have the buzz of people tending to her, her family.  Like any mother, you look around and measure the grief, the well being of the kids alive.  It keeps you from complete despair.  But it is a fog and a loneliness.  You've lost your child ...and everything, absolutely everything, changes.  A life you knew is over.  A life that was built so gradually, little moment by moment, to become your identity, your bedrock, is shattered in an instant ...smashed ...far, far beyond repair.  How could something that took a lifetime to build ...slip away in seconds.  It can.
What would I say to this mother?  I would assure her I had no idea the depth of her loss ...her loss.  I know my own.  I stretch for words here ...of course we both have lost a child at a tender, promising age.  She lost her child. I will never know what it is like for her to lose that child, just as she can never know what it is like for me to have lost Phoebe.  And in some odd way, confirming that is comforting ...I think, because it confirms the importance, the overwhelming value of that particular child created by God.  How could we possibly know the loss of each other ...and yet know and travel a very similar journey?  She will miss the gestures, the way the hair fell, the curve of the elbow, the fingers. 
I would tell her she will live, survive ...and that it will get better, in that she will learn the tricks of making the journey.  She will learn to make her grief fit ...so that she can smile again.  I am still learning the tricks, and will be for a while yet.  But I've learned enough now ...to know that I am learning. 
I would tell her that I am in constant prayer for her ...and that one day maybe we will meet and she can tell me everything about her precious one ...and I will listen over and over as she delights in remembering ...and cries in the loss, the horrible, horrible loss.
And I will tell her that God saved me ...through prayer, and friends, incredible friends who've stayed and have demanded nothing from me, placed no more burden on me.  I will tell her to trust, just simply trust even when her heart cannot ...and for good reason.
I will tell her how much I love her ...without knowing her ...because I do ...
I will tell her it will be okay ...because it will.
And I will tell her she doesn't have to hope right now ...because I will do that for her, just as so many before me had done for me.
And, I will tell her nothing ...because losing a child is a language beyond words ...and all I will need to say is that I lost Phoebe at 17, my girl.  And that will be enough.
Please pray for this mom ...so new to her grief.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and this child and may perpetual light shine upon them.  May they rest in peace. Amen.