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Writer's pictureSarah Raad

Grief

He went to Heaven Baptised by Desire, never having sworn or disobeyed or betrayed my God.

Madonna in the Church (Jan Van Eyck)

Almost a decade ago, my youngest child died before he was even born.

 

When that happened – even at the time knowing with my mind how lucky and blessed I was to have three other healthy children – I was completely and utterly devastated.

 

I can remember everything from those first few weeks as though I were re-living the experience right now.

 

I remember sitting in my children’s school assembly the day before visiting the doctor.  I remember speaking to the receptionist prior to the appointment.  I remember speaking to the doctor on the day.  I remember brokenheartedly speaking to the receptionist afterwards – after hearing the terrible news.  I remember feeling completely alone.  I remember looking at my children playing on the floor – completely unaware of what had happened – and I remember thinking to myself that I would have to collect them up and take them with me. 

 

I remember calling my mother from the car to tell her what had happened.  I remember saying that one sentence was all I could manage, and I could not talk any more after that.  I remember calling my husband and letting him know.  I remember him coming home early from work and being unable to speak about what was happening.  I remember watching my phone ring as my sisters wanted to check if I was okay, and I remember watching it ring as though I were frozen until eventually it stopped ringing.

 

And I remember the terrible grief – overbearing, overwhelming grief.  I remember the feeling that nobody and nothing could help me.  And I remember the feeling that I was not entitled to experience that feeling of grief because of all the blessings I had been afforded in my life and that in comparison to so many others, I should have been joyful and happy.

 

And years later – as I was praying for my little niece when she was so sick – through Grace and no merit of my own, the Holy Spirit came into my heart and I knew in the deepest part of my soul, that God had given me a gift through this suffering.  And the only way I was able to see that was because God came into my soul and showed me this truth from an eternal perspective.

 

You see, this Earthly life is so short.  But the eternal one is never-ending, and we spend almost no time at all preparing for eternity.  I have a little Saint in Heaven – a patron saint for my family – to kneel at the Feet of my Beloved and intercede for me.  And that little soul was not corrupted by the sin of the world.  He went to Heaven Baptised by Desire, never having sworn or disobeyed or betrayed my God.

 

And in this way, he is pleasing my Lord.  And when I think about that, though I remember all that grief, I also imagine eternity.  For in the eternal scheme of things, suffering that lasts an Earthly lifetime, is not a grief that is too hard to bear…  Not when I consider eternity.

 

For with prayer, I stand on Holy Ground where everything is clear. Here. At the Foot of the Cross.

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