#missingbenjamin

Oh, Benjamin. These past weeks we've somehow been surrounded by "you" so much, even in your death, that the fog of shock has been lingering. And sometimes now, as I wander around this landscape of grief and occasionally step a bit further from the shock, I find denial. Fresh panic mixed with tears of knowing, and I just deny it all. Every last detail.

This can't have happened. This can't be forever. This can't be what I have to carry the rest of my life. Carry the lack of you, instead of you. The fragile pieces of life gone too soon. The sorrow of your death. The realities of this life.

I think back on our time together and all the "what ifs" and the "should have beens," and try to rework the details. Details that can’t be changed, but I want you so bad... I'm partially believing the impossible somewhere in my mind. Hopeless hope. Just wildly loving you, Benjamin, trying to reach you. Recently I was reading how “'Irrevocable' is not something we accept easily in a society where we can change so much through technology–hasn’t there got to be a way to change this?”  

The finality stings so deep. Waves of disbelief toss me.

I can see the little chambers of your heart beating perfectly on the ultrasound screen, again and again, always so strong, even as my body was failing you. Your hands both above your head, like always. Tucked upside down. Right where you're suppose to be. Growing just as you should be. Heart still beating, as you entered this world prematurely.

My stomach knots up and my chest feels so hot just thinking about your absence. How do I carry on when I'm not carrying you?

7 weeks without my my littlest love. 7 weeks of the deepest emptiness. 7 weeks of urgent longing. 7 weeks trying to undo the already done. 7 weeks fighting finality. 7 weeks of blurry tears. 7 weeks of Fridays reliving your Friday at 10:09am.

7 weeks too long.

February 22, 2016

Benjamin “son of my right hand” Josiah “God supports, heals”

Benjamin Josiah, this was your name while you were alive and snuggled in my womb. It was yours. While there was much concern during our pregnancy, I always envisioned you making it– beyond term to 42 weeks. (Even the day before your arrival there was around a 70% chance you’d make it to full term.) Our story, your story, was going to be a story of extreme hardship, mountains of trials, a raging storm that seemed endless–but that God saw us through… that people across the globe prayed for over and over again, with nights full of tears and fears and singing and praying.. that taught us all the power of prayer and that God sustains and gives life. Benjamin Josiah. Just as you were named. God supports…God heals. He gives life. The testimony for your life was going to be powerful. I was sure of it. We walked through the hardest time of our lives on the journey of your protection. And we knew He would see us through. We knew you were going to make it. You were worth the wait.

But tragically, that wasn’t how your story unfolded. That’s not the road we are walking.

And while I deeply mourn the loss of your life here, I am reminded even as I write this, that though the physical parts of my presumed outcome for you were shattered with your death, the spiritual truths remain- true even to your name. The testimony of your life is still indeed powerful.

Instead of being the son cradled in my physical right hand, you are safe with THE SON, at the right hand of God the Father.

Instead of rejoicing in God sustaining your physical life, as we so desperately prayed for and long for even still, we are undoubtedly grateful that God has provided ultimate rescue for your life in eternity. You are whole and well and supported in the arms of Christ.

The wait is now exponentially longer for us to be with you, but the joy will be great.

So for now, here I am, living in the grief, walking without you, an even harder journey than that of your pregnancy.

I keep feeling fantom kicks. I keep thinking you’re here with me. Alive and well. What a horrible thing, to keep re-experiencing impossibility.

Buddy, I can’t find the right word. The right word for the ache. I ache for you so deeply. An ache deeper than I knew existed. The deepest part of me longs for all of you. Longs for your life. For your weight. For your movement. For your future. For your attachment. For your need. For your warmth. For your grip. For your smell. For our bond. I’ll never again feel your warmth against my skin. Never know the color of your eyes. Never feel your fingers wrap around mine, or your arms around my neck. Never see you rooting for mama’s milk. Never rock you to sleep. Never hear your cries, your giggles. Never see your brothers faces light up again as they hold you. Our moments have passed.

Oh I pray I get to somehow experience the fullness of being your mama in heaven. Getting you as my baby. Let it be so, somehow, that I can know you in that way, my sweet little one.