Hold Them Close

Standard

Been doing a bit of crying in the past 24 hours. Yesterday there was the story of the infant who underwent a circumcision surgery and met with serious complications. Late last night I heard the news he had passed. As a mother I cannot fathom that ache…..to sign the papers for a surgery to take place and to suddenly lose your child as a result. To have a newly born babe is such an intense rush of emotions….and to have to go from extreme bliss and nirvana to the utter devastating, irrefutable darkness and agony of loss…..I cannot even bear to ponder too deeply on it. I want to wrap those parents in my arms and attempt to soothe the hurt in some meager way. When I read the news he had passed I gathered my own sweet, sleeping baby up into my arms and just covered his beautiful face with kisses and thanked God for being able to do so.

Then today, a friend on FaceBook posted a photo, an achingly sweet, sweet photo of the hand of her 13 days old grandson who had passed from SIDS. They had buried him earlier today. I looked at that photo, at his perfect tiny hand, and I just broke down and wept. It could have been my own sons hand. All chubby and dimpled and tiny and marvelously formed. I wondered how the family managed to make it through that service. To have a son less than two weeks…….its enough to fill an entire lifetime of memories, but far, far too soon to let go.

In these moments, when I ponder the very real fragility of life as a whole, I find myself overwhelmed by gratitude. My six sons are healthy. They are here. I watch them through my window riding bikes, teasing eachother, soaking up the sunshine. And I am so thankful to have them here. Thankful they get to feel that sunshine. I don’t deserve my children any more than those mothers who lose theirs. Not in any way. I am reminded it could have been me. I could have left that hospital empty-armed. I could have buried a child…….

I send my prayers up for those hurting right now. For the empty nurseries. For the breasts filling up with milk until they ache to be emptied. For the weeping mothers and grieving fathers. And I hold my own sons close. Oh so close. And thank God for them. Everyday.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s