two weeks later

Two weeks.  Why is it that time seems to speed up after a tragedy?  Has it really been two weeks since Gabriel drifted into – and out – of our lives?  Ugh.

I have been recovering fairly well.  No fainting, no illness (well, I have strep throat but no vomiting!) and the pain has been pretty well controlled.  I’ve been trying to be still but that is hard with 3 little ones who still need Mommy.  Especially 3 little ones who don’t understand why God didn’t heal their baby brother.

I think that’s been the hardest part.  Chloe, our 5 1/2 year old (going on 30), has really had a difficult time with Gabe’s death.  The day we left the hospital we brought Gabriel to our house for 2 hours before taking him to the funeral home.  She held him for a little bit when we first got home and then she was done.  Until she realized that we really were going to leave with him and then she asked to hold him again.  This time she held him close and cried… and cried and cried.  We had to pull him out of her arms and she started wailing and grabbing onto us saying “no, no, please wait” and then we had to walk out the door.  Leaving her behind, heartbroken with her Ya-Ya to comfort her when she needed her Mommy.  (no offense, Ya-Ya, because I’m sure you did a great job!)  I have never hurt as badly as I did in that moment.

And now she doesn’t want to talk about it.  When she decides that she does she just wants to know why God didn’t heal him.  And I hate not having an answer for her.  She only gives me a few words to try to explain and then she changes the subject.  I don’t know what to say to comfort her.  How can I when I am wondering the same thing?  I want to know why, too.

Someday we will know why (or maybe we won’t).  But for now, two weeks later, we’ll just have to find a way to trust God and have faith that He will work this out for good.  I hope I can help her find the way.


  1. I don’t know if a picture has ever broken my heart more than this one. I don’t even know what else to say. We will continue to pray for all of you. I’m also trying to figure out a way to come visit soon. I’ll try and call either tomorrow or Wednesday.


  2. This picture breaks my heart. I am just so, so sorry. The “whys” are so hard when they are left unanswered, but perhaps would be even harder if we knew the answer. We may not know the why, but we can be assured that God cares and feels our pain. It sometimes helps to think of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, asking God for another way than His death. As we all know, God didn’t answer that request, He had to go through with it. In that moment, He understood what us bereaved mothers feel now.

    You continue to be in my thoughts and prayers.

  3. That night has to have been one of the hardest of my life. Watching as her dear baby brother was taken from her arms – no 5 1/2 year old should have to ever go through that kind of trauma. And yet I’m so glad that I was able to be there for Chloe. I wouldn’t trade those horrible, precious moments for anything. I picked her up at the door when her Momma and Daddy left with Gabriel. I carried her over to the couch and sat down and held her as she cried and cried and cried, and I cried and cried and cried. The look on her face as she looked up at me is one I will never, repeat, never forget. All questions and no answers. Longing. I held her and wiped away her tears, and she wiped away mine. 35 minutes of utter mourning.

    Then I went to war for my dear granddaughter and her tender heart. I felt like she was in terrible danger – the enemy of our souls was using this awful situation to try to make an entry into her heart. I don’t think my praying had ever been so fervent. I fought hard, and continue to pray for all of my little ones – that their hearts will be protected by Papa God as they continue to seek answers for what seems unanswerable.

    Thank God we’ve never lost a child, but as a grandparent the hurt is exponential. We grieve for our child as she grieves for her own, and we grieve for our grandchildren who were not to be with us. Hard doesn’t even touch it. Neither does horrible. Pain. White. Hot. Pain. Longing for the hurt to ease for the child you bore, all the while knowing that the hurt she carries will never leave.

    I pray that Chloe, and her brothers Dylan and Ezra, will in time begin talking about their hurt and begin to ask questions that may or may not have answers. I also pray that I will be there for those precious, hard times.

    I love you all,

  4. This has to be the most heartbreaking photo I’ve seen. I’m so sad for your little one, and praying for answers and peace for all of you.

Speak Your Mind