I want the rest of this year to be finished so that instead of saying "Two months ago my baby died", I can say "Last year my baby died". Then eventually it will be "My second child died. Oh yes, this is actually my third baby." These are the sort of fantasies I have.
I know this sounds horrible, but I want to see someone else go through this. I want to see someone else feel cut down, hopeless, unlovely, singled-out, unfairly treated. I don't want to be the only one.
Church is a difficult place to be right now. I'm afraid to catch people's eyes because I don't want to see their pity when they look at me. I don't want them to evaluate my post-baby body and try to figure out how I'm dealing with this. Whether I look pretty much OK or whether I look like a woman on the edge...of something. I don't want to catch their eyes, so I just look at the floor most of the time.
"Some say nothing because they find the topic too painful for themselves. They fear they will break down. So they put on a brave face and lid their feelings - never reflecting, I suppose, that this adds new pain to the sorrow of their suffering friends. Your tears are salve on our wound, your silence is salt." - Lament for a Son, Nicholas Wolterstorff
I have nothing to show for this year but a remodeled bathroom. And a grave. And a bunch of brand new baby clothes.
Will I ever trust God again? Something about this loss makes me feel like I'm on my own, like it doesn't really matter whether I bring God into things or not. That His involvement just doesn't guarantee that something will be OK. What's the point? I just feel mad at Him now and it's hard for me to come to Him with any innocent faith. My requests are qualified and lacking in confidence. I don't know anymore if He hears me or if He really cares. Some days I want to give up. The only thing that keeps me here is that I know that way would be even worse than what I've got now.
"Faith is a footbridge that you don't know will hold you up over the chasm until you're forced to walk out onto it. I'm standing there now, over the chasm. I inspect the bridge. Am I deluded in believing that in God the question shouted out by the wounds of the world has its answer? Am I deluded in believing that someday I will know the answer? Am I deluded in believing that once I know the answer, I will see that love has conquered? I cannot dispel the sense of conducting my inspection in the presence of the Creating/Resurrecting One." - Lament for a Son, Nicholas Wolterstorff
