| I am confined and cannot escape;
my eyes are dim with grief. I call to you, O
Lord, every day; I spread out my hands to you.
Psalm 88:8-9
|
 That’s how the news
came to Ann, mother of two children, ages 12 and
14. The tone of the doctor’s
speech–very clinical, very
detached–were uttered with less empathy than
an electronic voice on a telephone answering
machine.
How
could a physician so skilled with a scalpel
butcher communication so badly? It’s all
part of the grief that Ann feels.
Ann
still grieves for her stillborn child, who died
14 years ago. And now her husband’s death
only adds another layer of pain deep in the
topography of her soul, which, if measured
according to some geologic time scale of
suffering, is incalculable. |
| |
"I have rage towards
God," she says. "I feel lost, every
decision is mine now." In the period of your
loss, what did you see?
Only despair? Only loss? Only grief?
Or the Lord?
Even when your
eyes are dim with grief, you can call out to the
Lord.
Who knows what
he will show you? |
