Seasons of Sorrow

I arrived home one evening in early December encouraged by accomplishing the previously unattainable feat of staying at the office for a full day. Three months had passed since my daughter Tara had died. It’s true I had to feign productivity, but at least the curtain of grief had lifted enough for me to partially resume normal activities. The light on the horizon was dim, but I could see the rising dawn of healing.  

My husband Sam watched for me as I drove into the driveway.  

“Hi, how was your day?” I asked when he opened the door. If I had been more observant, I wouldn’t have had to ask.

“Not worth a damn,” he said in his usual get-to-the-point way. “Alden died today.”

It took several repetitions before his words penetrated the barriers of denial and disbelief and settled into reality.   My granddaughter Alden Betts, Tara’s baby girl, was gone.  The family was to gather within the week for her christening. Instead, we would bury her. I noticed the sorrow in Sam’s eyes only briefly before, once again, I plummeted into the blindness of despair.

I don’t know why Alden died. No one does.  They called it Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, SIDS, “the sudden death of an infant under one year of age which remains unexplained after a thorough investigation, often leaving unanswered questions and causing intense grief for parents and families.” SIDS is a diagnosis of exclusion in the absence of explanation. 

There are experiences in life that are at the very edge, the borders of our intellectual reach. As painful as it was, I could make sense of Tara’s parting. It was a predictable outcome in light of medical decisions that had not been in her favor. Alden’s death defied comprehension or hope for meaning.   

Sudden, unexpected death threatens one’s sense of safety and security. The death of an infant threatens one’s sense of God. Children are not supposed to die before their parents. Babies are not supposed to die before adults.  Tara was gone. Alden was gone. Twice we were to experience the disruption of the natural order of life. Twice I would have to ask, “What do I believe about God now that this has happened?”

A day would come when I would know the answer to that question, but in that moment, all I could say was, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me.”

Reflections:

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”~Kahlil Gibran

“Sometimes the fear and pain are so deep that all we can do is come with our questions and our fragile desire.”~Ann Dean

“If knowing answers to life’s questions is absolutely necessary to you, then forget the journey.  You will never make it for this is a journey of unknowables—of unanswered questions, enigmas, incomprehensibles, and most of all, things unfair.”~Jeanne Guyon

“Hear my cry, O God, and listen to my prayer. From the ends of the earth I call to you.  I call as my heart grows faint.” Psalm 61:1-2

-Is my faith dependent upon knowing the answer to life’s most difficult questions?

-In times when life seems unfair, when incomprehensible things happen, how do I make peace with mystery?

Prayer: 

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep.  Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen

~From the night service of Compline, The Book of Common Prayer 1979 (ECUSA)