Friday, January 3, 2014

A painfull cry

My heart it aches, is indeed broken, as I write this. My child is dead! My unborn babe, whom I loved, has passed into eternity, my wife has wrung the tears from all the halls of her heart, and the walls of her face have been washed by them. My Daughter unknowing goes forth to face the world unconcerned, yet she feels this great sadness that hangs over my house, but does not understand it. My intestines have wrapped themselves into knots, and my grief is indescribable. Yet in the midst of the pain, in the midst of the darkness, in the depths of our despair, there is a peace, and a hope undefinable.
My child is dead, who never saw this world, yet I know someday I will see the babe, for it has been gathered into the arms of the Father of All, I have an inexplicable hope, knowing that he will be watching from above waiting to meet his Daddy, and Mummy, who loved him. The pain is overcome by peace, and grief gives way to victory, for life is fleeting. How unbearable must be such a loss to those who live without hope, how deep the pit of grief, for it is only hope that buoys us upward, only hope that gives me the strength to lend to my wife.
When my wife entered the hospital, people all over the world were offering prayers for our family, for our little unborn child, and those prayers were answered, if not in the way we expected. My wife is safe, there were no complications, she lives, the doctors did not fail. My daughter is alive, as am I, we grieve for our loss, but with the knowledge that we will greet our little one one day. I have lost a part of me, and it causes me to understand more about Our Father. "How deep the Fathers love for us...", I understand the loss of a loved one, I understand the loss of a child, (even if ours was yet unborn), I do not know I would have had the courage, or the strength to give this child up knowing that he would die.
It gets easier, as the days pass, but still my emotions run riot, still I bounce about, like rowboat in the heart of a tempest. I scream, in my heart, and ask why, as a poet I am more aware of such emotions, as a writer I give vent to them, my pain fills the words, my grief leaks out between the pages. Why, perhaps I shall never know, but I am at peace, I know my child is safe, and for that I am glad. The prayers of a multitude bear us up, and we are grateful, the prayers of the righteous are powerful and effective, and we covet these prayers all the more in our darkest hours.
Perhaps in time I can get a handle on all this agonizing grief, perhaps it will make a poem, but as for now, I express myself in prose. I vent my profound sadness, in a manner that is easiest for me, I weep with sorrow, and the words blur and become unreadable blotches upon this page, the ink separating into various pixels. My sorrow is profound, like the depths of the deepest sea, and yet I have hope for tomorrow, I do not have to bear this burden alone, I can pass it off to the one who holds my hope for the future. I have help, in a very real way, from He who holds the future, who is strong though I am weak, who loves us enough to die for us. In the end I have enough strength to lend to my wife who needs it, and we can grieve together.
However, I now know, from experience, how awful it is to use the emergency room here, and were I the type to curse, to pass judgement, the type to flog dead horses, I would pronounce an awful doom, on those who treated my wife and I so shabbily, I would call down plagues upon them, but I do not. I do not for they do not know any better, they have been mistaught about patients emotional needs. My only suggestion would be for them to do what medical doctors have done... put on the patients gown, and wear it for a week, indeed wear it in their own ward, and live there also. Until they have seen from a patients eye, they can not realize how traumatic it is to be a patient in their ward, and this would drastically improve the quality of their care. I will not vent about this hideous treatment, as I will try to put it behind us, and pray for those who have mistreated us, but I do not say that forgiving them in this season of sorrow is easy. Someday it will matter no more, and cursing those who have abused us will have been as nought.
I have no idea how people can be taught to be so cold and callous, in the heart of a place dedicated to the care of the afflicted, I do not understand why people put up with it, but I do know this, it is an indication of a deeper problem. When an unborn child is not seen as a person, there is a problem, when people are taught that it the fetus is not a living being, how far can it be before they say that the elderly, or the mentally disabled are not people, how long before medical murder is completely sanctioned. This is very disturbing in an essentially Roman Catholic country, even more disturbing though, are the lack of chaplains of any sort in the hospitals, or in the military. The church and the state become so separated that the God becomes forgotten, that the state tries to become an atheist state.

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