His works in progress

OK and not OK

I wrote this to my dear friend recently when she asked how I was doing:

 

I'm ok.  Really.  I am hurting like heck but I know that's ok.  It's supposed to hurt.  And I'm angry.  Death is not OK.  It was never God's desire for us and each time it hits us, we should rue it's very existence and the way it serves as a very painful reminder of our temporary separation on this surly sod.  Bob-o's death makes me long like a deer pants for streams of water for our real home, the place we truly belong.  My heart knows more now than ever before that I'm not meant for a world, not meant to live, apart from my Maker.  I'm meant to be with Him - truly be with Him forever and ever.  That's where my boy is.  I want him here on this fallen earth with me more than I can possibly say.  But he is living out my life's longing and I know that I'll hold and love him again - and forever.  I'm reading stacks of books on grief and death and heaven - I especially like the ones on heaven since we're going to be there for all eternity.  I'm learning how to embrace my grief and pain, that mine is different than that of my kids and my sweet husband, that the Enemy (why do I dignify him with a capital letter?  I don't know...) is relishing this but his victory is short-lived.  Dennis and I say we feel cheated  - well, it's true.  We have been cheated by the Original Swindler.  However, he can only harm Bob-o's body this one time.   Satan has nothing to say about his  eternal destiny; the real victory is God's - now and at the last day.

 

Good news and bad news...

Which do you want first?  I always like to get the bad news out of the way, so here it is:  When you don't get to bring your baby home from the hospital, you still get the big, fat hospital bill.  Ah, well.  Small potatoes in light of the Good News.

Which is:  we are all made for eternity!  A friend gave me a very sweet article by Marshall Shelly - read it here; and this so touched my heart because it sums up beautifully the real truth about our Bob-o and all of us in this world.  Each and every life has meaning - profound, universe-altering meaning and promise.  And all it takes to realize our eternal potential is to ask Jesus into our hearts.  He won't barge in but honors and dignifies us with free will.  So exercise your TRUE freedom of choice today for the best news of all!

Ouch

Our baby was stillborn.  He died before he was "born."  He lived and moved inside me for 39 weeks and 4 days.  He was over 8 lbs for crying out loud.  Yet the state of Virginia issues us neither a birth certificate nor a death certificate.  I can write them and request a "Certificate of Birth Resulting in a Stillbirth" and for that I am thankful.  All I want is a little piece of paper issued by the bureaucracy in which we dwell that indicates the state recognizes Robert Bowling Stephens for the wonderful little person that he was and is.  I figured out we wouldn't get a birth certificate when they were wheeling me out of the hospital room and I mentioned sort of in passing "oh, the birth certificate lady never came by," and no one said anything.  Ooops.  Silly me.   I had just given very real birth to one of my biggest - and very real - full term babies and yet no paperwork for me.  Or him.  Well, then, I took some comfort in the idea that the state would at least acknowledge his very real life and therefore very real death (which you can't have without life, but I digress) with a death certificate.  Nope.  The sweet funeral home lady called me back today to let me know as gently as she could that since Virginia considers his situation a "fetal demise" (as opposed to what, I wonder?  Infant demise? Human being demise?  Person demise?) they won't automatically issue such a document.  Ouch.  Was he any less real because of mere timing?  I know it won't bring him back.  I know it won't assuage my grief much if at all.  I just have this fear that the world will forget him, or worse - pretend he never was.  I can't let that happen.  I'm his mom.  He's my boy.  My very real boy.  No one will get to know him on this side of heaven and that hurts. 

And then I worked up my nerve to schedule the well-child physicals for his 5 live-wire siblings today, having put it off for awhile because I knew it would be a painful reminder that there are no appointments to schedule for him.  You know how many times you take a new baby to the pediatrician?  Ouch.

I know he's in the arms of the Great Physician and therefore doesn't need any vaccines or check-ups or braces or glasses or casts on broken arms.  I just miss him.  So very much.  Ouch.