Recently, while covering a local event, a friend shared an intimate story with me.
I was holding my son Lucas. She looked at him sensitively, and then at me. She proceeded to tell me about her own son who died at close to the same age as Lucas. He died in the crib, she said. He was already gone when she went to check on him.
My grip tightened around Lucas. His body held closely, I could not help but feel empathetic to her loss.
If I were to loose him it would be too much to bear.
My family has always been accepting of death, thinking it is a way of life. I have been comforted by this belief when both my great-grandmothers passed away. They were wonderful women whom I loved dearly.
When I think about my own child, I know I could never justify his death. I am reminded of something my mother said to me when I was younger.
My mother Lisa told me God is a jealous God. And we are not supposed to love anything or anyone more than we love Him.
She looked away and said this scared her because she loved me so much. She was afraid God would take me because of the strength of her love for me.
This comment has stayed with me through the years. Both to remind me of how much she cares for me, but also as a spiritual lesson of love.
I am not saying this as a reason why my friend lost her son. But we can’t help but question God when a child is taken.
Sometimes I find myself worried about my husband and son, because I love them so much. I love them more than anything I have ever known.
I find myself wanting to hold Lucas and give him hugs and kisses. But I often stop myself, believing I have to let him learn his way. I have to be confident God will protect and guide Lucas just like He did for me. And that is all any of us can do.