It’s hard to believe our littlest turns 8 today. Like many couples unable to have more children, my husband and I have sometimes failed to thank God for what we have and instead wished for more. I won’t lie: it is painful to imagine that I will never again experience the joy of cradling a tiny baby of my own so tenderly in my arms. There is nothing in this world like that love. But we know–for an anatomical fact–that no more will be coming. We have, I suppose, come to terms with that.
A while back, rather unexpectedly, a family we know shared some awesome, but surprising, news. I had the great privilege of a few weeks of joyful planning and vicarious, happy anticipation. But yesterday, my friend went to her doctor appointment for a check up and some good news. She came home with very, very bad news.
I cannot even imagine her pain. We experienced the fear, yes, when I had first trimester bleeding. That was a little over 8 years ago. But that fear turned into…well, she is 8 years old today. My friend will not be experiencing that great wave of relief today, tomorrow, or even 8 years from now.
And, over here on this side of town, I am trying to celebrate a birthday. There is a cake to frost, a house to decorate, and dinner plans need to be made.
I feel guilty.
What kind of friend am I to celebrate my child’s life when, not too far away, a family is mourning? Sure, I’ve done a few little tasks to help, expressed deep sympathies, offered my services in any way possible. I’ve probably done the “right” things. But it is not enough. And I pray.
If you are reading this, please pray for my friend and her family. Any comments are appreciated.
