Hope Shaken

After two nights in the hospital, the baby and I were cleared to go home.  I was still in a lot of pain but able to shower and get myself in and out of bed.  The physical pain seemed mild compared to how much it hurt to know my husband would not be home with us.  He wouldn’t be handing the baby to me to nurse during the night or laying beside me in bed.  It would be the first time I had taken a baby home without him, but I stuck with the plan for my friends to drive us home.  I just couldn’t bear the thought of him being there to carry the baby into the house and get us settled, then leave.  He was there when we discharged from the hospital though.  He dressed the baby in her going-home clothes – a pale pink smocked outfit with matching bonnet and tiny shoes.  She looked like a beautiful little doll.  He was emotional again.  We all were.  

While the younger two boys were at our house with friends, waiting excitedly to welcome their sister, my oldest wanted to be with us for the trip home.  There was a crew of friends waiting with welcome home signs their kids had made the baby, and more friends who visited in the days after we got home.  There was no shortage of food, as the ladies from church and some from the community and daycare made sure the fridge and pantry were well-stocked with snacks, desserts, and southern-cooked meals.   

My sister and the ladies from church took turns staying with me each night.  They would sleep in the room with me, change the baby when she woke, then hand her to me to minimize how much I had to move after C-section.  My oldest son had a hard time with my asking these ladies for something he felt he should do.  After assuring him that there was nothing lacking in him and that I asked their help in order to spare him from seeing his momma in such a state, he seemed to understand and compromised by sleeping just down the hall on the couch where he could hear and help if needed.  

He was a tremendous help from day one.  Completely smitten with his baby sister.  All of the boys were.  It was joy to watch them with her, and she brought much-needed joy to all of us.  One of my best friends ascribed Esther 4:14b to my daughter as her life verse: “And who knows but that you have come to your position for such a time as this?”  Indeed, it seemed that she was made for great purpose – sunshine for my sad soul, laughter for the boys, encouragement to those who were watching to see if we were going to be ok.  My other best friend started a Facebook “Daily Dose” picture of the baby while we were in the hospital, and hundreds of people would “like” and watch for the daily dose.  In my mind, it was a small measure of hope for them.  A way to see that we had not given up, that God was still good, and that there could be joy in the midst of sadness.  

That’s a pretty apt description of those days.  She brought great joy, but there was still incredible sadness.  When my husband would visit in those earliest days and I would walk into the room and see him with her, it would seem so natural and right.  My heart would swell with love to see him with our daughter, and my eyes would well up with tears.  I often had to leave the room to be able to bear it.  There were times when I could see tears in his eyes as he sat with her, and he admitted more than once that he was conflicted.  But the conflict never came to a resolution that was in my favor, and I came to realize just how much I had built my hope on our daughter bringing her daddy home.   

When that didn’t happen, my hope was shattered.  For the first time in my life, I felt the deep sorrow of hopelessness.  As a Christian woman who loves God and fully believes that “faith is the substance of things hoped for” (Hebrews 11:1), I am ashamed to admit I felt that way.  If my hope was gone, so then was my faith, based on this verse.  I sat in the glider rocker in my room for hours each day and night, hope fading and faith wavering as I nursed and tended the baby, staring at the pictures around my room mocking me.  A couple who appeared happy and in love now torn apart.  One of them left with every responsibility and a world of hurt while the other lived out a fantasy and escaped without apparent consequence.  I was so overwhelmingly sad, and I was mad.  At him and at God.  I didn’t think destroying his things would truly help, but I understood how women could get angry enough to try.  I absolutely could not sit in that room one more day looking at his things or those pictures of us.  

I left other rooms and hallways untouched at the time for the kids’ sake, but I ridded my room of the physical reminders of him.  I hid pictures in a drawer or in his closet behind a shut door.  I removed his suits from my walk-in closet and put them in the basement.  I emptied his chest of drawers into boxes and filled the drawers with the baby’s things instead.  I sent the boxes to his apartment so I wouldn’t have to see them.  I didn’t want to see any reminders of “us” in my room, taunting me with what I lost.  It was too painful and too much. 

If only I could have purged my mind of the memories too.  They were haunting.  Removing the stuff actually did little to comfort my heart.  I was in full-on grief.  I had known grief many times in my life, but not like this.  The grief I knew was from losing loved ones to death after praying and praying for God to heal them.  As heart-breaking as it was, I could accept that the healing came in Glory, not on this Earth.  There was an answer to my prayer, even if it wasn’t the one I wanted.  I had memories and the promise of seeing them again one day in eternity as comfort.  This grief was different.  More excruciating.  See, when someone dies, the choice is typically not theirs.  Some tragedy or disease has taken them from you.  In my situation, I was grieving someone who was still alive but had chosen to leave, and the memories were tainted and questionable.  They tormented me instead of comforting me.  There wasn’t closure, just unanswered questions.  It was miserable. 

I was miserable.  I sat rocking in that chair, sad and hopeless, thinking about my precious girl and her wonderful brothers.  All so beautiful and deserving of a good home life.  And a good momma.  I had to rally back from this.  I could not let Satan rob me further or take anything more from my children.  He wanted me to believe all hope was gone and my faith was useless.  I knew in my soul those were lies.  They were in conflict with the Word of God, which was still the only thing I felt trustworthy.  Even in my most hopeless state, I knew God was steadfast and sure.  He would never leave me nor forsake me (Deuteronomy 31:6).  Temporary hope might be shaken, but Eternal hope was secure.  I could not allow my feelings to override my faith, but it was no easy or short battle.  The coming months were a tough fight, with Satan a relentless opponent but God the ultimate victor.