There is something that I realized a while ago about loss and grief. In a world that loves to compare experiences, dole out permits for sorrow, for joy, and measure how long you’re allowed to grieve, this one thing is true: there is no small loss. There is no scale of one-to-ten when it comes to losing children; everything starts at eleven and goes up from there.
After we found out our first child had no heartbeat, I sent a brief text to the people who were closest to me. One friend, a former student of mine, sent back only one line. “Dios sabe porque pasan estas cosas.” God knows why these things happen. It’s a comforting and embittering thought.
Even more than asking “why?”, we love to assign our own reasons for the things that happen around us. Sometimes it’s helpful, sometimes it’s more hurtful than anything. But isn’t it all just speculation, until the end of all things, when the veil is lifted?
I know a beautiful lady that I wish I knew better, and her experiences in grief go far beyond anything I have known. I have no idea why she was asked to endure what she has. Her story is not mine to tell, let alone speculate on what reasons God may have had for asking it of her. But seeing her with her precious new son, feeling the joy and the wonder of it, I know without a doubt that no Mama was ever more perfect for her child, and no little boy was ever so worth the wait.