I wrote a similar post last year. I don’t remember the word I chose for this year but in retrospect, it should have been sorrow.
We had the most difficult year of our lives. Losing homes? Going bankrupt? Moving countries or counties? Falling off with family or friends?
Nothing, nothing, nothing compares with the pain of losing a child.
It is gut-wretching. It is soul destroying. It is heart numbing.
It is not natural. How can it be? A new baby equals new beginnings. Life at its best.
How can our minds reconcile the idea of a new baby with cancer?
Old people die of cancer. People who abuse substances die of cancer. People who don’t watch their diets and who eat crap die of cancer. Not five month old babies. Not sweet, innocent beings whose sole desire is to be with their mamas. Whose souls radiate joy and peace and everything that is good and perfect about life.
Only, it has happened. To us. Normal and the most ordinary of families.
The sorrow we feel cannot be described in words.
In retrospect, I am so glad we didn’t know what was ahead of us. I look at myself 11 months back and I think: “Ignorance was bliss.” 11 months ago I was so ready to have my baby. 11 months ago I knew nothing about cancer. 11 months ago I was as innocent as innocent can be when it comes to pain and sorrow.
So for the new year and in 11 months from now, what do I hope to have?
Peace over what has happened to my boy.
Acceptance. Coming to terms. This is what happened. It sucks. Completely. It is f…unfair. But it happened and I cannot change it. I cannot live in it, in the devastation land. In the pain land. In the sorrow land.
I need to leave it for the next step.
Destination for 2015?
Hoping in some sort of healing of our hearts and horrible memories of Georgie’s suffering.
Hoping for restauration. Of our faith in God. In goodness. In humanity.
Hoping for a return. A return of joy. A return of what has been lost.
Not my baby, my baby cannot come back.
But the return of innocence. The return of the desire to live. The return of dreams. The return of “what the locusts have eaten.”
I miss you, sweet boy.
I HOPE you are well and truly happy there. I hope to see you soon. I hope you don’t miss us too much. But I hope you remember us. I hope time will not delete the memories of your sweet spirit, your giggles and your beauty from the minds of those who have met you, even briefly. I hope Jesus tells you about our tears and our longing for you. And I hope they don’t make you sad but they make you feel loved.
You are so loved! You have been so wanted. And we continue to want your presence with us. We will, in some shape or form, until the day we will see you again.