This morning I opened the Facebook app on my iPad and started scrolling through my news feed. A post from a grief site caught my attention so I ducked over to the loss of a child FB page and started scrolling. . .
And my heart broke all over again.
As I scrolled through the posts I read such raw anguish. . .
I heard my own thoughts echo back through the words of others.
How did this happen?
How could this have happened?
Why did this happen?
Who am I now?
What am I doing?
Why can’t I get it together?
How do I go on? . . . Do I even want to?
I’m so angry!
I feel numb. . . detached . . . lonely.
I have no friends left.
If I’m not happy others don’t want to be around me.
And so it goes. . . so many pain filled thoughts and feelings.
And I’ve put my emotional armor on.
I read these things and give a knowing intellectual nod to each one . . .
But I refuse to draw any closer.
I refuse to engage my emotions.
I can’t shoulder their pain along with my own.
I have nothing to give.
My arms are so weighted that I cannot reach back for the one who so desperately needs a hand to hold.
I’m still broken.
I feel guilty and ashamed that I can’t formulate words of hope, support and encouragement for another hurting parent.
The words just won’t come.
Maybe tomorrow. . .
But what of all those hurting souls that need a word today?
I am so thankful for the many bereaved parents who step up and in on the days I can’t. Those who are there for me and others with understanding, encouragement and sometimes righteous indignation.
I’d never wish another parent into the child loss community, but I am so very thankful that I’m not alone.
And on the days when I am weak – when the well is dry, others are stronger and extend the hand of courage to the weak and the wounded.
I need the Holy Spirit to fill me before I can be poured out once again for another.
We need each other.
How we need each other!