The Chronic Pain of Loss

by Kerry

I got to hold him yesterday. The sweet baby boy. He arrived about one week after my sweet one was due to arrive. He is here. Mine is not.

It is so painful but healing, in a way.

As that babe was quickly set in my arms so his mama could help lead worship at church I was elated and saddened all at once. I should have been holding my baby at that moment. Then my mind quickly shot out a thought – I wonder who is holding my baby right now. Then the the wish for – I hope someone is, indeed, holding my baby right this minute.

The sting is always there. Like chronic pain. And I know that pain, too. Pain from a chronic illness that rears its head at whim. Without warning sometimes. Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis diagnosed at age three. More like a life sentence. But better years were ahead, little did anyone know. However devastating a diagnosis may be, it still pales for me in comparison to losing my child. It’s true what “they say”… about losing your own. It feels so unnatural. Just not right.

It took every fiber of my being to not allow tears to seep out of my eyes while holding beautiful baby Tucker. I knew the floodgates would fling wide open if permitted. Not there. Not then.
He looked so perfect and peaceful Sunday morning. And I do possess so much joy for my friend and her gift. So grateful for his safe arrival. I’m thankful for that joy I feel for her. I prayed for that.

Even though we cycle through phases of grief it doesn’t mean the sting ever subsides. And I’m learning that’s okay. Yes, I can be happy and laugh and love on my other babes. The appreciation and love for them has multiplied hundreds times hundreds. And I can also be sad, anxious for the reunion, but sad for the hardness of it all.

It’s that longing reminder. Our Maker wants us to have that longing for Him as well, to be in His presence for eternity. This pain is horrifying and chronic. But only until we reach glory. Then the true reality of “it was all worth it” will be beyond evident.

Redeeming joy. Hope’s sight. Faith fulfilled.
By Him. For Him.

It’s all about me Him.

This is what I hold tight to, rely on. It’s what gets me (and you) through the rough days.
I keep seeing the cross, lying on the ground, no body. Just the words etched in the wood by Him… I love you.