grieving {with hope}

Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 (NIV)

Tonight I am grieving for a friend.  She is a friend whom I have never met in person and have only interacted with online, yet she is a friend I care very deeply about. My friend's name is Mandy, and she became a first-time mommy just a few days ago.  No one truly "deserves" to become a mom, but if anyone did it would be this amazing lady.  

Mandy's pregnancy came after 9 years of desperate longing, earnest praying, and medical intervention.  She was initially carrying twins, but her world came crashing down the day she found out one of her precious children had died.  Then a few months later she found out that her baby girl would need heart surgery when she was merely days old.  Mandy spent the last couple weeks of her pregnancy in the hospital, because the doctors wanted to keep her baby safely inside for as long as possible.  

This breathtakingly beautiful little girl was born on March 24, but sadly, her mother's world came crashing down again when Abigail left this earth one short week after her birth.  Mandy was able to hold tiny Abigail in her arms as she slipped away into the arms of Jesus.

Photos by Simply Pictorial

Abigail's death is one of the many things in this world that I don't understand.  How could anyone even begin to make sense of a child's death?  As one of my dearest friends recently said, "It doesn't feel right that life just goes on when a baby dies."  Since my interactions with Mandy have all been online, it's surreal to be sitting at my computer, watching my online life going on like normal while I know how very deeply she is hurting.  It felt wrong going out to dinner and watching a movie last night when I knew Mandy would be coming home with an empty womb, empty arms, and facing an empty nursery full of baby things that will never be used.   

I can't imagine that kind of heartache.  I honestly don't know how the women who have experienced the loss of a child -- at any stage -- are able to keep breathing.  I don't think I could.  Their strength is amazing to me, and yet I know this strength did not come naturally.  They have been forced to learn how to live again and learn to keep moving forward while their painful wounds are ripped open again and again with every daily reminder of all that they've lost.  

I wish I could take away, or even partially carry some of Mandy's pain.  More than anything, I wish I could bring baby Abigail back... but I am grateful for the confidence that Abigail is safe in the arms of Jesus, fully healed and perfectly whole.  I just desperately wish she could have been like that on this earth.  ♥

I'd like to think that some day we will all understand the tragedies of this life, but I tend to think we'll forget all about them when we see the face of Jesus.  Sometimes it's hard to remember that as much as it hurts now, this world and all the pain that comes with it is temporary.  Heaven is our final destination, and there will be many joyful reunions when we get there.