My compassionate doctor then took me into her personal office for privacy. All of this still feels like a blur to me because I felt this survival instinct of separating myself from reality. I cried and felt as though I was waiting to wake up from this nightmare. I called Andy over and over and over again because he was in the hospital parking deck at the time without service. Perfect? I couldn’t talk, I was the only person in the room, so I prayed. Lord, I know your plan is always best. But this hurts so deep. I may never understand why you let this happen, but I know you will make this right.
Once Andy arrived, with the help of my very capable doctor, we made plans for what was to come. I was going to carry my baby for a couple of days until they could schedule my surgery. A surgery where they would remove my baby from my womb. It’s such a bizarre feeling to know your baby both is and isn’t with you any longer. The day between when I found out my baby was in Heaven and the day of my surgery might be marked as the darkest day of my life thus far. Thankfully, I don’t remember much about it. How bizarre to feel like you’re merely a participant in your own life, like you’re on the outside looking in, and that’s exactly how I felt. I cried for myself, for my baby, for my dream unfulfilled. Jesus wept too. Why has that never really hit me until now? Probably because I’m crying more tears than I’ve ever cried before. But the kind of weeping Jesus did for Lazarus is the kind of crying that I’ve been transformed into doing for my baby too. Thank you, Jesus.
I first learned about the word dakruo from Angie Smith in her book I Will Carry You (which if you’ve never read… run, don’t walk, to Amazon Prime!). The weight and reality of that word dakruo (or dakyro, as Smith uses in her book) struck a chord in me. Dakruo is the term “wept” in Greek, used only in the New Testament passage of John 11:35 at the death of Lazarus. When defined dakruo means “to shed tears.” The connotation of this word carries a tenderness and sympathy, and is intertwined with humanity. Our Lord wore flesh so that He could experience and know our pain, and then conquer it. We believe in a God that was willing to come to Earth and experience our pain fully and wholly. He has stood in our place of grieving and sorrow in the wake of loss. He did not have to do that, y’all, HE IS CHRIST. He is not powerless, but shows vulnerability anyways.
His tears were not in vain, but they were not the kind that I’ve cried before- full of emotion and doubting. Dakruo is the type of weeping that involves the least amount of emotional attachment. He knew Lazarus’ death was temporary so he could merely dakruo, tenderly and compassionately shed tears. I know where my baby is, and therefore our separation and the reason for my mourning is also temporary. Thank you, Jesus.
If it were not for this, friends, I would be without all hope right now honestly. If I didn’t believe this with my whole heart then I would have a hard time putting one foot in front of the other. I cannot adequately express the peace that comes from knowing that NOTHING CAN SEPARATE ME OR MY BABY FROM THE LOVE OF CHRIST.
So I pray for those of you now that are here because you’re also grieving or navigating loss in this crazy, clumsy dance of pain and joy. My prayer is this:
Once again- I come to you, Abba Father, knowing and trusting that Your plan is always best. This loss hurts so deep. And though we may never understand why you let this happen, we believe that you will make this right. Lord, make Your presence known to me and my friends in a way we’ve never experienced before. So, I ask that you fill us up in the places that feel empty. Give us Your peace that passes all understanding, and comfort us with the shadow of Your wings. You are the God that wept for Lazarus knowing full well that You are mightier than death. We hold that close now, Father, as we trust that You are loving our babies and loved ones for us. And when we doubt, Father, may our clumsiness become confidence as we rest in Your truth. We pray that in our grief You will receive glory and honor and praise. For it is through You and for You that all things are made. Strengthen us as we press on, and give us the courage to be vulnerable amidst our pain. We need more of You, God. In Your strong and holy name- Amen.
To my angel baby: I love you endlessly, and the God that rescued us both loves you more.