On Sunday 26th October, we baptised our 12-year-old daughter, 7-year-old son and 8-month-old baby. It feels remarkably comforting and joyful to say this.
It’s been cleansing for me too, as I fell away from my faith for a number of years. It seemed to heal the hurt that I’d experienced, to dissolve the anger I’d once had with Church.
The day started well as all the children were well! The baby had a sniffle but I’d been praying for us and the godparents to keep well amidst the endless rounds of seasonal colds and tummy bugs, so I was glad we were all okay.
I’ve not been blogging or networking much lately. I’ve been feeling run down, very low about Abi and generally snowed under with work and family life. I feel flat and pretty much overwhelmed as again we face more special occasions without our girl.
It’s particularly busy this weekend as it was my hubby’s 40th birthday yesterday and we are also having our children baptised… all three together … on Sunday. It should be a wonderful time of celebration and excitement, but when you’re living with loss, times like this turn into the bleakest of winter days.
At church yesterday, there was a baptism and, after it had been done, we sang this hymn, which to me summed up how faithful God is and how He will be there for us
(and had been with me) from the beginning until the end – regardless of what happens in the middle.
These words were hard to write (just a month after Abi died last year), and I expect are just as hard to read. But talking about dying matters to me.
I know there are other parents going through this every day – saying goodbye to their baby or child, whatever age, whether expected or not.
No matter what brings them to this day, at the very end, they will only die once and, as much as I am more likely now to remember the happier days with my daughter, her life, I feel her death was also a significant moment that should not be forgotten simply because it is too painful to remember. I share this experience knowing that, right now, a parent is going through the same heartache. I hope they find this and it brings them comfort knowing they’re not alone.
It was around 6.30am. The staff were quiet and respectful. The consultant apologised when she told us that there would be a further delay of an hour as a baby had just been rushed into the theatre unexpectedly. But we were okay with this. It was still dark outside. We didn’t want Abi to pass away in the dark, she was a morning, sunny girl. So we said that about 8am would be our preference, when the sun was coming up and the dusky gloom had lifted…