Using Our Spiritual Gifts to Glorify God
July 10
It's been nine years now
Couldn't decide if I was going to write about it this year. Before I went to bed, I said no. The more I've thought on it today, the more I think I want to. No, not want. Need. I need to talk (Write) about it.
Nine years ago today, I went to sleep a mother of five, with four daughters and a son. When I woke up, I was a mother of four. Just like *that* my son had passed away in his sleep, leaving me a mother of four daughters.
Suddenly, Sam's life became a series of "he nevers" -- he never got to talk, never got to take his first step, never got to play in the snow, never got to play in the rain or splash in a puddle ... no first date, no graduation, no college, no career, no marriage, no ...
Just like *that* all my wishes for my son went out the window. Instead of wondering what kind of man he would someday become, I was left wondering whether he'd suffered, if he'd known what was happening, had he felt it, did he understand it, was God there to greet him, did Jesus wrap him in His arms and let him know it was going to be okay, did my Grandma come to take care of him and help him find his way around ...
The coroner never did come up with a cause beyond SIDS. No closure, nothing to blame or point a finger at and say "this did it." He was perfectly healthy, had just been to the pediatrician and had gotten seven shots -- I wanted to blame the vaccinations. I wanted to blame something. Anything. SIDS isn't a cause, it's a symptom. Or maybe "result" would be more accurate.
Out of curiosity, I just went to the American SIDS Institute homepage and got their definition:
SIDS is the sudden death of an infant under one year of age which remains unexplained after a thorough case investigation, including performance of a complete autopsy, examination of the death scene, and review of the clinical history. (Willinger et al, 1991).
In a typical situation parents check on their supposedly sleeping infant to find him or her dead. This is the worse tragedy parents can face, a tragedy which leaves them with a sadness and a feeling of vulnerability that lasts throughout their lives. Since medicine can not tell them why their baby died, they blame themselves and often other innocent people. Their lives and those around them are changed forever.
Yeah, that about sums it up. I don't blame others, but to this day I ask myself "is there something I could have done differently?" "What if I hadn't gone to sleep, what if I had just stayed up?" "He was on his back, but maybe the covers got over his face."
Once the white hot edge of grief is gone, it's the endless litany of questions that's the worst of it. The grief subsides into a dull ache that never really goes away ... it subsides from time to time and you sometimes find yourself going several days in a row without having actually thought about it, and then WHAM! The questions never stop. One leads to another to another to another ...
He was such a beautiful baby. I know his soul's with God, and I am comforted by that. I just wish he could have stayed here with me a while longer.
Couldn't decide if I was going to write about it this year. Before I went to bed, I said no. The more I've thought on it today, the more I think I want to. No, not want. Need. I need to talk (Write) about it.
Nine years ago today, I went to sleep a mother of five, with four daughters and a son. When I woke up, I was a mother of four. Just like *that* my son had passed away in his sleep, leaving me a mother of four daughters.
Suddenly, Sam's life became a series of "he nevers" -- he never got to talk, never got to take his first step, never got to play in the snow, never got to play in the rain or splash in a puddle ... no first date, no graduation, no college, no career, no marriage, no ...
Just like *that* all my wishes for my son went out the window. Instead of wondering what kind of man he would someday become, I was left wondering whether he'd suffered, if he'd known what was happening, had he felt it, did he understand it, was God there to greet him, did Jesus wrap him in His arms and let him know it was going to be okay, did my Grandma come to take care of him and help him find his way around ...
The coroner never did come up with a cause beyond SIDS. No closure, nothing to blame or point a finger at and say "this did it." He was perfectly healthy, had just been to the pediatrician and had gotten seven shots -- I wanted to blame the vaccinations. I wanted to blame something. Anything. SIDS isn't a cause, it's a symptom. Or maybe "result" would be more accurate.
Out of curiosity, I just went to the American SIDS Institute homepage and got their definition:
SIDS is the sudden death of an infant under one year of age which remains unexplained after a thorough case investigation, including performance of a complete autopsy, examination of the death scene, and review of the clinical history. (Willinger et al, 1991).
In a typical situation parents check on their supposedly sleeping infant to find him or her dead. This is the worse tragedy parents can face, a tragedy which leaves them with a sadness and a feeling of vulnerability that lasts throughout their lives. Since medicine can not tell them why their baby died, they blame themselves and often other innocent people. Their lives and those around them are changed forever.
Yeah, that about sums it up. I don't blame others, but to this day I ask myself "is there something I could have done differently?" "What if I hadn't gone to sleep, what if I had just stayed up?" "He was on his back, but maybe the covers got over his face."
Once the white hot edge of grief is gone, it's the endless litany of questions that's the worst of it. The grief subsides into a dull ache that never really goes away ... it subsides from time to time and you sometimes find yourself going several days in a row without having actually thought about it, and then WHAM! The questions never stop. One leads to another to another to another ...
He was such a beautiful baby. I know his soul's with God, and I am comforted by that. I just wish he could have stayed here with me a while longer.
Comment
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Comment by Kathleen Helms on July 13, 2008 at 5:22pm -
Thanks, Tom. Most people don't know what to say, so they don't say anything. It's always nice when someone just lets their heart talk.
Hugs, Kate
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