The truth is, I feel far from loved by God. He took you from me for no reason at all. I keep thinking that it would be easier if you hadn’t ever been viable, never had a heartbeat. Or if I already had at least one child before I lost you. But I’m not sure that’s true. The love I have for you would not diminish and probably never will for the rest of my life. Even if you had gone on to break my heart and hate me.
But this love I have for you is the hope I’m clinging to–that God loves me the way I love you. I know he does. But when I don’t feel it, I think of my love for you and for a moment, am awed to think that anyone feels that way for me, let alone God himself.
But I have to admit I am loved. If losing you has taught me anything, it’s that I am far more loved than I thought I was, by people I have never expressed love for myself. I have been surrounded with compassion, kindness, meals, cards, prayers, words, and listening ears.
And in fact, my hope in all of this, that I will feel loved by God again, is upheld by the memory that the night before I lost you, when I was lying in bed unsure if I was losing you or not, hoping that I wouldn’t, unable to sleep in the grip of my fear, I was surrounded by love. God stepped into my darkness and stood by my bed and told me, “I have you and your child. I have you. Rest in my comfort and presence.” I took a deep breath and immediately fell asleep.
This carried me the next day as I faced the news, and the surgery. But afterward is when I sank into despair and anger toward God. How can the God who promised me that he had us in his hands let you go? How can he be so distant from me now?
I realize that he is love in a sense that I cannot fathom. He may be showing love in this, in ways I can’t understand. He may be showing love to others one day who he will use me to minister to because I have gone through this. He may be showing others love because it is allowing them to heal from their own broken memories by being present with me in my grief. He may be showing love to others by allowing someone who has no idea what I’m going through still learn a little and get a taste of the grief so that they can minister to someone else in my situation. He may even be showing love to you in this, because he wanted to spare you some kind of suffering on this earth and take you straight to himself.
This may be nothing but love. But it feels like anything but. All of the above is small comfort. But perhaps, one day, their comfort will be greater and the purpose of my grief will be known.
In the meantime, know how much I loved you and love you still. I ache with love for you and I hope in the knowledge that my God aches for love of me too.