Yesterday
while helping out at my son’s school, the teacher pulled me aside and told me a
fellow student, a nine year old girl, died in her sleep last night.
I was
stunned. I did the usual, “Oh no, that’s terrible" response. It didn’t start to
sink in, till a few moments later as my son was eagerly greeting his fellow
classmates. All of them unaware of the tragedy and the depth of sorrow slowly
taking over the school, like a black wave. I felt so relieved to see my child
standing in front of me, safe and healthy. At the same time my heart broke as I
thought what this little girl’s mother is doing at that very moment.
Is she
thinking about how her little girl would be entering her class right now, if it
wasn’t for being gone? Was she thinking she should have hugged her tighter
before leaving for work to teach her own class? Was she thinking she should
have gone easier on her while she got after her daughter about putting off
doing her homework? All the guilt a mother would feel.
This child’s
mother is a teacher in the same school district and her father is a church
youth pastor. They are well known and loved in their community and the police
to not expect foul play. As expected an autopsy will be performed, but can you
imagine the horror of not only finding your child dead in her bed, but then
having to answer insinuating questions from the police? Yes, they need to
investigate, I do understand that as we all want answers, but I can’t imagine
the pain of that experience.
Later, while
I worked with individual students at a desk out in the hall, I saw her class
walking slowly back from assembly where they were told the devastating news.
Seeing her classmates and teachers in tears, with some of the girls so upset
that teachers had their arms around them, holding them up was a sorrowful, but
touching sight. Seeing other teachers and staff hugging each other in the
hallways behind the children, hoping none of the students would see their
moments of breakdowns was actually harder to witness.
As I looked
back at the little child in front of me who was looking up and needing help
with a word, I swallowed hard and smiled through misty eyes. I fought back the
tears, saving them for my own moment alone when I could let them flow
unhindered.
In fact it
wasn’t until the next day did that moment alone where I could finally allow the
feelings of sorrow and fear to overtake me.
Emotions
have the oddest timing sometimes. Sure I was saddened and a bit melancholy
yesterday, but it wasn’t until I was driving home from the grocery store this
morning, did my emotions finally decide to bubble up from somewhere deep inside,
find their way up to my eyes and begin to flow over like water over a rock
cliff.
Like a free
flowing stream, once the tears started, there was no stopping them.
I felt the
guilt of a parent whose child is still here; I felt the pain of one mother to
another of knowing her heart is breaking and how I wish I could gather up all
the pieces of her heart and hand them back to her with love. I also felt the
fear as a parent feels and hear myself ask the question,
See, my
biggest fear is losing my child. I have lost many loved ones, including my
parents when I was young and it is simply the thing I am most afraid of.
I am a Christian
and I pray a lot, but I struggle with trusting God on this one. How do I know
He won’t take my child away from me? I pray, I often beg Him not to do that,
but I know it’s not up to me to decide when and that scares me.
The greatest
gift ever given to me was my son and I know that the gift could be pulled from
me in the blink of an eye and I struggle with that knowledge.
Yes, it
makes me appreciate each day more and of course, tragedies like this one makes
me hug him more and even let him get
away with a bit more because who wants to harshly discipline their child now?
Especially when a family is now mourning the loss of their child who would give
anything, anything for the chance to get mad at her for something.
We will move
on and the memory will fade at this sorrow like they always seem to do, but
that nagging fear, that scary emotion that is always right there under the
surface like a predator ready to overtake me and devour me, is always there
taunting me.
It never
goes away.
I fear no
hell except for the one no parent should ever endure – burying a child. That IS
pure hell on earth.
God, please
forgive me for my failing faith in you in this one area. I am filled with faith
for you in other areas, just please send Jesus to me to hold me up in my
weakness, for you have taught us that when we are weak, He is strong. And I
could really use His strength right now.
But I can
wait, till you get that little girl’s mother steady under your arm – she needs
you so much more I know.
Julie
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