I am sitting in almost complete darkness. Only the light from my phone. I am sitting here watching my daughter sleeps.
In a few days, she will be four. She is tall, beautiful and smart. She laughs when we laugh before she knows what we are laughing at. She picks weeds, presents them as flowers and insists they smell beautiful. She loves her cousins and insists she is going to marry two of them, or her dad, whoever gives her the prettiest flowers.
I am sitting here watching her because a few days ago, I read that a women delivered her stillborn son. A baby they struggled to conceive, a baby boy, they struggled to carry. A rainbow baby in his own right. A baby conceived after multiple losses. A baby that they waited for.
I have determined that you can’t watch a heart break without a piece of your own breaking as well.
When I read the post, that her son had no heart beat. All I could think of was “Jesus wept”.
He wept for His friend who died, how He must weep for this woman, her husband and child. As gladly as Jesus welcomes the children to Him, I am sure He must weep to see his children in agony.
As much as I find comfort in Isaac’s name meaning He Laughs, it’s equally comforting to know the Jesus Wept. I can’t explain justly why. Maybe it’s because sometimes crying with another person is therapeutic, and knowing Jesus wept is to acknowledge he had feelings of any man.
When I was pregnant with the Bean, I was more afraid of losing her than anything. I was so afraid to love her, but more afraid to lose. Now I sit here watching her, and think of all the extra time I could have loved her.
For the few short days I knew of Isaac’s existence, I loved him. I still love him. He was loved the whole time I knew of him.
So say this is rambling is an understatement. Life and death, laughter and tears. Somehow it will all tie in. I just can’t see t right now.