There have been some moments in the past few weeks when I’ve thought about what possible good thing may have come out of our story. While I met with my spiritual director last month, he asked me a similar question, “What gifts did your boys give you?” And while we were meeting with a new friend we met through our grief support group for parents who have lost infants, I asked her a similar question.
I don’t know if it’s a desire to stop thinking about the bad parts, the horrible parts, the sad parts…or maybe to try to find the “silver lining” in all of it…? When my spiritual director asked me the question, the one thing that came to me was just realizing how much love I had in my heart for these twin boys of ours. I was more or less happy that we were going to be parents throughout our pregnancy, but really had no idea what I was getting into and it definitely hadn’t sunk in yet. However, as I’ve mentioned before on this site, when I was holding tiny little Micah and Judah in my arms, my heart was just so full of love, and so broken at the same time. It was then that I realized – more than anything – I wanted to be a dad. I wanted to have children who I could love, and watch grow up, and care for.
So that’s a gift I think.
But at the same time – I don’t think I really needed that gift.
The day after Micah and Judah died, a friend from seminary’s father was killed in a tragic car accident. Jenny writes about her loss in an article entitled “Formed by Loss, Formed by Love.” I was particularly drawn to the paragraph below, especially as she quotes from Wolterstorff, who you know I’ve also quoted before on this blog:
In Lament for a Son, Nicholas Wolterstorff expresses his grief after the death of his son Eric: “Have you changed, someone asked… I have changed, yes. For the better, I do not doubt. But without a moment’s hesitation I would exchange those changes for Eric back.” In the past weeks, I have been told by people whom I love and who love me that I am forever changed, that my sermons will be different, that my ministry will be affected by this, that I will be a better priest because of this. I do not doubt their wisdom and I hope it proves true. However, I cannot help but think that I would rather be a less good priest and Dad be there to see it.
So Micah and Judah gave me the gift of realization of how much I really did want to be a dad, of how much love I had.
But I didn’t need that gift. I would have realized that about 15 weeks later when I held the two of them as healthy, newborn twin baby boys. I didn’t need that gift then. And as Wolterstorff and Jenny said above, I would trade back that gift, and anything else good that came out of this horrible situation, to just be able to have my boys with me. I would trade it all to be able to hold them, and put them to sleep, and watch them sleep, and take uber-cute photos of them, and change their nasty diapers, and bitch to my friends about how crazy they are and about how little sleep I’m getting, and to have fights with Sarah about who changed the last diaper and whose turn it is now and to be deprived of sleep and cranky.
But I can’t.
And no one else can.
And so perhaps – at the right time – that is why we look for where the good is in all of this.
Brooke Moore says
Yes, yes, yes. I’ve been wrestling with this issue for almost 5 years now. And every time I really get down to it, I end up concluding that nothing – no blessing, no gift – is worth the death of my son.
Thank you for being so candid. This is a beautiful post.
I hope 2011 holds beautiful things for you and Sarah.
Tim Nelson says
I’m trying to take a little time each day to read some of the postings on this site. You have a wonderful way of expressing yourself and I can relate to so much of what you write.
I have the “gift” of time on my side, and over the years have been better able to focus on the positive things that Kathleen’s life brought my own. It took a lot of years to get here and certainly does not mean that I would not trade everything I have learned and all that has come my way since her death, to have been able to see her grow into the beautiful young woman I know she would be today. But, like you said, I think over time it becomes a little easier to accept the fact that no amount of wishing or trading will change what happened. I think many people come to a crossroads at some point in their grief, and have to ask themselves, “am I going to be sad and angry the rest of my life, or am I going to look for anything positive I can find in this nightmare, and give myself permision to smile again?” I can only speak for myself, and know it sounds silly to some, but I think I NEEDED to have that power to make a decision about my future. I could not change what happened — no one gave me a choice on that front — but I could decide how I would let Kathleen’s death impact my life. For a control freak like myself, that was very empowering.