Grasping

Two weeks ago, one of my closest college friends lost her son.  He drowned while they were on vacation in Alabama, and it has rocked their family to the core.

It has also rocked me to the core.  Nine years ago we lost our little boy, and that's something that never goes away.  Most of the time, all of the things associated with that time in our lives are stored on a shelf in a box that I keep in my heart.  The anger at God, and the hopelessness associated with that period stays stored away; a friend once told me that things like this either make you bitter or they make you better.  She had experienced a similar loss, so that stuck with me.  Mostly we choose better.  The last two weeks, the bitter has come sailing back with a vengeance.

If anything defines me, I hope it's that I'm honest.  Losing a child isn't fair.  It isn't just, and it doesn't make sense.  That never stops circling in my head.  Why me?  Why us?  Why Nicole?  Some people want to talk about the parents of a lost child as a beacon to others.  The reality of it is that I never wanted to be that beacon.  I didn't want to be a picture of grace or someone who displayed super human strength.  I wanted to be tucking my baby into a crib that we were so excited to choose.  I wanted him to meet his brother that came after him, and I wanted to trip over all his crap on the stairs.  I wanted the chance to be his mom, and we never got beyond the terrible medical decision stage.  It sucks, and I'm furious.  I'm angry that it happened to us, and I'm shattered that it happened to Nicole and her family.

These last few weeks, I have been grasping to say something meaningful to a friend who is at the beginning of this journey.  I have been frantic to say the right thing and provide insight that will help get them through the dark days.  Sometimes I worry that I'm being too present.  To be honest, I can't remember how I reacted to people those first few days after Cade was gone. I can't remember if it was helpful for people to reach out or if I responded at all.  All I know is that I'm so damn mad that I am writing about this at all.