Warning: This post is being written with scattered thoughts and worn emotions….
Photo by Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash
My fourteen-year-old is attending a funeral right now: the funeral of a sixteen-year-old classmate. I cannot even begin to imagine the nightmare that child’s mother lives in right now. She is living out the scene that causes me to lose sleep at night.
Sometime after giving birth to my fourth child, panic set in. I came to the realization that I had four children. I had quadrupled my chances of one day losing a child. And this is where I live. In a constant state of insanity awaiting the pending devastation that might not ever come.
Is anybody with me on this?
That question is rhetorical. I already know the answer. I saw it in the eyes of every mother standing in line to check their child out of class for a funeral today. I heard it from the lips of a friend who is right now waiting on test results for her thirteen-year-old who has already beat the C-word once. And I remember that answer and the anger it evoked in me as the child of an over-protective mother hell-bent on keeping me alive. Potential loss grips the heart of a mother.
I have no words of comfort because I seek comfort myself. I want assurance that all of my children will outlive me. But I’ll never get it. It isn’t promised to me.
I want so much to let that go. To stop seeking to control things I will never have control over. My need to be in charge only shows my insecurities and lack of trust in the God who created all things. The God who made my children and loves them so far beyond my understanding of the word.
So today, my heart goes out to the mother of Molly Jones. I don’t know her, but my heart aches for her. I pray that through the turmoil of this life, she finds peace in eternal things.