Morbid?

We who are bereaved parents often speak of our children. We look forward to that joyous day of being reunited with them again. When I have mentioned to others that I spend a good part of my day interacting with those who have lost a child, I have been asked: “Isn’t that a bit morbid?” They are surprised and are incapable of understanding my response: “Not at all”. They attempt to persuade me that I would be happier if I focused my energy elsewhere…on something more ‘positive’. Speaking with other parents, mostly moms, about our children strengthens me. I find encouragement to keep on keeping on. For me, avoidance by trying to distract myself from the harsh reality of my son being dead is like attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. If someone tells me not to think of a giraffe, that is exactly what I will think about.

I look forward to going Home for all eternity. I look forward to leaving this world and taking up permanent residence in God’s Kingdom. Such thoughts bring me comfort and joy. Knowing that all this pain is temporary, that one day I will be set free from all of it completely, is a ‘positive’. It makes this life here more bearable. That’s what got Jesus through all of His suffering and excruciating pain of dying on that Cross:

“For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame” (Hebrews 12:2)

I am Homesick. My focus changed from this world to the next the day my son left this world. Heaven was no longer some strange and far away land. It became my son’s Home and subsequently mine. I often would state that life is short; that I was just passing through ‘this world of woe’. But saying it and knowing it are not necessarily the same.

I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world of woe
Yet there’s no sickness, toil nor danger
In that fair land to which I go

I wait with great expectation for the day that trumpet blows and my name is called to come up yonder. That will be the day when all my tears will be wiped away. I will no longer have to deal with sickness and sorrow and death. What is morbid about that? It will be the day when my ‘redemption draweth nigh’. The best is yet to come!

Well, now I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Comin’ for to carry me home
There was a band of angels a comin’ after me
Comin’ for to carry me home

Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin’ for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin’ for to carry me home

Well, I’m sometimes up and I’m sometimes down
Comin’ for to carry me home
But I know my soul is heavenly bound
Comin’ for to carry me home

Until that day arrives, I will do as my Lord has asked: “Occupy till I come” (Luke 19:13).

 

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7 thoughts on “Morbid?

  1. I believe this with every speck of my being.

    Those sickeningly positive people who want us to join their ranks of ignorance, will get it one day. They’ll get it when what haunts them comes a knocking on their door. They’ll be forced to face what they run and hide from.

    We bereaved parents know this. Some of us are sucked into this societal mentality or by sweet lil grand babies that make you temporarily forget the excruciating pain, but their time to grieve WILL come again. FACT.

    Our pain isn’t buried WITH our children, it’s alive in their place.

    💔❤️💔

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Yes, sadly, all will have to embrace the horrid pain of grief at some point in their lives. Hopefully, not on the level of the excruciating pain we know as bereaved parents. (((HUGS)))

      Liked by 2 people

  2. My Father was concerned for me and let me know he thought my grief support groups just enabled me to wallow in my misery. He didn’t know what to say when I told him, “They are the only people who understand me.” Not many others really try to understand me. They just want to correct me or fix me. Only grieving fixes grief. My hope – my eyes – are fixed on what will be. Reunion. Joy unspeakable and full of glory. The comfort of home and the Savior to welcome me. Casting crowns filled with humility and awe. Anticipation. . . is the root of my endurance. Great anticipation is making me wait. Thank you for expressing this common loss community truth. We are stronger together. Our weakness, through the supernatural work of the Holy Spirit, is our strength. We are not weak-kneed positive thinkers. We are wrestling survivors. And we are longing for our true Home.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Today is a crying day for me. Missing my son, Ryan. Trying to picture him happy, the mental anguish gone completely in the presence of our Savior, comforted and free from his torment & struggle. Sadly, the legacy he left behind is one of pain. Now it has become bedfellows with the deep love that remains in my heart…will until I see his sweet face again. Thank you for your insights, encouraging words and the stanzas to songs I’ve known and loved all my life. Now the meaning of the words are near and dear to my heart.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. May our Lord envelop you in His Peace & comfort, Debbie. Missing my baby, too. It’s nearly 11PM…haven’t been out of bed all day, haven’t eaten, haven’t even fed my poor cats. Some days are simply horrid. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a bit brighter for both of us. Just waiting for my name to be called. (((HUGS)))

      Liked by 1 person

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