My Boys

My four boys have been good medicine for me over the past month.  Besides forcing me to keep putting one foot in front of the other and functioning at some (very low) level, they bring joy to my days that are filled with an ache that won't go away.  Their snuggles, hugs, and laughter are so healing to my soul.

Dinner time has been so important over these hard weeks too.  Over the past month we have had meals delivered to us every night which has been such a wonderful gift.  Not only did I not have to shop and plan and cook the dinners, but while we were around the table there were many moments of grace.    One night when we were planning the funeral, I asked the boys if they had a favorite church song they'd like played.  Our second son, who wants everyone to be happy all the time said, "Isn't there a song about "Just be happy".  Our  eldest busted out with Bob Marley's "Every little thing's gonna be alright".  We had a good laugh about the thought of Bob Marley being played at the funeral! Laughter while grieving is especially healing.

While the boys have been so healing and helpful, it is hard too because each time I see one of them and my heart is filled with love- I am reminded that we had another one on the way.  They are little reminders of my longing.  But it helps to know that I'm not the only one missing baby John. They too were so excited about their new brother and eager to welcome him to our family.  Even our youngest, who is only three, said one night at dinner, completely out of the blue, "Someone is missing".  Yes, someone is missing.  That is what I've been feeling so painfully. 

And the questions they ask resonate with my own questions. Our five year old had a twin that we lost in utero early on so he is especially aware of the fragility of life in the womb.  He started praying as soon as we told him we were pregnant for "the baby in mommy's tummy not to die".  He prayed this faithfully every chance he could the whole pregnancy.  At family prayer time, at grace, and often he would ask to light a candle at church and his prayer was always the same.  A few weeks after John's death I asked him,  "I know you prayed often for the baby not to die, and he did anyway, what do you think about this?" His answer broke my heart.  He said,  "Maybe on accident God thought that I said for the baby to die".  I assured him that God doesn't misunderstand us.  God knew that we wanted this baby alive.  But I couldn't give him a good answer of why this happened anyway.  I am wrestling with that one myself.

Recently I was feeling especially sad and my eight year old asked me what was wrong. I told him I was sad because I was missing baby John.  He said, "It's like in that song from Church.  Right now you're in the darkness, but you'll be clothed in the light." Wise words from a child.

I don't know when I'll see or feel "the light" again, but his words gave me hope. And sometimes hope is enough.