There would be no rocking our child in the wee hours of the night or cradle bed to lay him down to sleep. No gentle rhythm of baby’s breath or plaintive cry for midnight feeding.
Our house lacked the smells of baby—the lotion, the powder, the diapers, empty or full. I missed simply being able to rest his cheek against mine. To pat his small frame, having my heart swell with motherly love.
All these losses added up and left me restless. Sleep became elusive to me. As I lay in bed, I needed to hold something to fill my empty arms. I grabbed a small pillow and cradled it. Maybe I could fool my heart into believing my baby wasn’t gone.
THE TOLL OF GRIEF
The next morning, Billy and I woke up with a high fevers, chills, and aching bodies. We could barely get out of bed to drive to the doctor. We both had come down with a bad case of strep throat. Grief must have taken its toll and wreaked havoc on our immune systems.
We started a regiment of antibiotics right away. With pulsing head, I rested on the recliner in the living room. Billy was sprawled out on the futon. People from church brought us soup, but neither of us had the strength to heat it up in the microwave.
My stomach growled, and I knew I needed to eat something soon. “Could you heat up dinner, honey?” I croaked.
“Can you do it? I can’t get up,” groaned Billy.
We went back and forth, each trying to coax the other into making dinner.
Finally, Billy spoke up with frustration in his voice. “You’re gonna have to get it. I’m too sick.”
“But, I’m sick and still recovering from having our baby,” I cried out emphatically. “Why can’t you make dinner?”
Billy buried his face deep into his pillow and moaned. April looked worried and upset that her mommy and daddy were arguing.
“Well, if we’re both too sick to even make dinner,” I lamented. “Then who will take care of April?”
“Fine. I’ll call someone.” Billy got up and gave my aunt a call. She agreed to watch April for the night. Forcing myself out of the recliner, I heated up the soup and made us dinner, grumbling inwardly about the unfairness of it all.
A few days later, we were on the mend, but something had shifted between us. Like grief was so heavy, our deep love for each other got buried beneath it. Our relationship was set off course and we drifted further and further apart.
At the same time, something like a shadow crept over me. Even when I went outside in the bright sunlight and pushed April in her swing, it brought me no joy. All I could feel was the heaviness and the shadow.
THE NEW NORMAL
After months of drifting in darkness, Billy and I attended a missions conference for our church. During worship, I felt so overcome with grief, I could barely lift my head. As the music played, I bowed down in worship and felt some of the burden of grief roll off my shoulders.
We partook of communion and a church elder handed me the bread and the wine and spoke a verse over me.
“The old has gone, the new is here.” (2 Corinthians 5:17, NIV)
Everything was different now, but I couldn’t get used to this new normal. I wanted things to go back to how they used to be, before Luke died.
I didn’t know how I could ever be happy again.
For Part 1, click here.
Part 12 is available here.
No comments:
Post a Comment