Musings

Last night was a particularly difficult night for me. I found myself once again crying for hours in the later hours of the evening, triggered by who knows what; some little thing that I didn't see coming, inconsequential, really, but just enough to remind me of the underlying sadness; which, at times, I can wishfully think has really left for good, but then arises and explodes like a volcano.

What is my sadness from, I pondered as my tears began to dry up and my body relaxed. What is it really? Why am I always so sad, so hopelessly and helplessly sad? Am I sad still for my lost daughter, or is it something else? Is it still okay to be sad, now, six months later? I don't really know. But as I sat and thought, and later as I reflected, I realized something. I am sad over losing my daughter. I feel the loss of what could of been deeply often. When I sit at the physical therapist's office with electrodes pulsating on my still damaged knee, I'm reminded twice weekly, of the whole horrible incident. Plenty of time to sit and think and to be reminded of all the pain. Even today I received a certified letter from Spain; what was it? A bill; for the appointment at which I was told that my daughter had died. Unjust? Cold? No, just life that goes on despite me. So yes, everything that happened still seems much more fresh and tender than I ever thought it would be at this point. That is definitely a contributing factor. But what else?

I read an old email today from a friend of mine in California; much older and wiser than me, that told me to give thanks for all the hurts and hardship in my life. Give thanks!? No! Okay, I know that the Bible says to give thanks in everything "for this is God's will in our lives." But come on! I realized today that in my sadness, in my depression, while much of it is well-founded, normal, expected, there is some depression and sadness that is there because I am choosing to stand up tall and proud before God, rather than bowed down and humble. I have felt like, when you lose a child, it is something that is not supposed to happen, so of course, God now owes me. You know, to make up for what He took away...right? I have somehow allowed myself to think that even though I know we are supposed to be content in all situations, that it does not apply to me in this situation. No one is supposed to be content that they lost a child, right? Am I supposed to be content, even if this is God's will in my life, am I supposed to be content that His will was to take away my daughter, leave me in this foreign country, away from my family who I miss immensely, cause the country I'm going to come to the brink of war, leave me with no real direction in life, and not allow me to yet become pregnant again. I am supposed to be content with that? No, obviously not (I've been saying to myself). He owes it to me to make my life better. Not in a mean way, you know, just like, God, how can you be doing this to me? Today I started to accept the fact (or at least acknowledge) the fact that this whole life and world is not about me, it's about Him. It is not to say that in acknowledging this that I relinquish my unquenched, heart-wrenching desire to have a child, that has not diminished one bit. I will still pray for a child until I hear His answer. But it has just adjusted my perspective the tiniest of bits to see that deciding that I am exempt from contentedness in Him, even in my circumstances is not right. And that while He grieves with me, and in His perfect world there would be no death or crying, and so I know that He doesn't desire to see me in pain or to have allowed Ella to die, but at the same time, I must acknowledge that I must obey him despite the sorrow. His desires for my life have not changed. His desires for me to be a godly woman, to content only in Him (even more than my child), and to allow Him to fill the very large void I feel in my soul is still there. This is a hard word for me. I know the tears will continue, but I hope they will be just out of sadness in missing my little baby girl during what would have been her first Christmas with us, and not because I am angry at God for "ruining my life." Well, back to the mundane.