I haven’t written much since Christmas. The winter, as I anticipated, was harsh. I felt alone, and confused, the nights are long and my patience short. Although fresh fronds, shoots and buds have awoken as the rest of this hemisphere ushers in spring, I find I am still braving the cold. Springtime song-birds sing their haunting melody reminding me once again that time continues. The world goes on without any consideration. Another spring, fresh with possibility leaves me lost. I want so badly to embrace the newness of this season, but so far it’s just a reminder of what my family has endured in one short year. Eden entered our world one year ago, tomorrow.

One year ago today, I was anxiously awaiting my third baby, uncomfortable and hot. Wondering when he or she would make their appearance into this world, wondering if it was a boy or a girl, all the brewing emotions a mother feels. Little did I know that soon I would give birth to the single most influential being to enter my life. Eden was a gift beyond what I could have ever imagined and continues to teach me every day. So much goodness has come from Eden’s life- so I hate to muddy that up by focusing on the obvious sorrow, but it’s where I am. I fear I will lose all authenticity if I merely focus on the bright side when I’m still lost in the fog.

At church I feel disconnected with fellow believers. I feel awkward, wondering if I ought to be acting different in my current situation. I get confused watching others in their worship. I can’t help but wonder if they would be raising their hands to the sky if God took one of their babies. We sang a song:

“I was buried beneath my shame. Who could carry that kind of weight? It was my tomb. I was breathing but not alive. All my failures I tried to hide. It was my tomb. Until I met You! You called my name, and I ran out of that grave!”

I resonated as I read the words, but the song is one of jubilation! Excitement! Praise! Woooooooo!!!!!! I got angry. It isn’t always a happy and joyful experience when God calls you and reveals His will for you. I have never walked so closely beside God, but I cannot say it’s been fun. And I think we forget that this Christian life doesn’t equate to unbridled happiness. The bible shows us that nearly all influential men and women in ancient days suffer tremendously as they walk in alignment with God’s will.

Many only saw the blessings of what God had promised them when they inherited the kingdom through death, while their life merely consisted of wandering, loss and war. I have come to grips with the fact that I may never see the fruits of my suffering. The ripple effect of how I chose to respond to this tragedy could affect my bloodline long after I am gone. Like in Ruth, if she didn’t suffer the loss of her husband and uncomfortably live in a foreign land she would have never met and married Boaz. And it was that union that the bloodline of Christ came from! They were the Great Grandparents of King David. Through their obedience came the Hope of the world. Yet they died knowing nothing of it. Ruth was dealt a bad hand, but through her obedience – God made amazing things happen.

I trust that God will not waste my pain. And I understand that His plan for my suffering may not come to fruition in my lifetime.

I am learning this is very counter cultural. People want to see results. They want to see happiness. They want miracle stories with a happy ending. I don’t embody these things. Because of this I struggle with feeling connected in my relationships, my community, my faith: my world. Now that 9 months have gone by, I feel like we are seen as ‘back to normal’. Lets face it, life has to go on. We keep a routine, go on family trips, hide Easter eggs. But believe it or not, normal just might be the worst assumption thrown at us. In the book Option B, Author and widow Sheryl Sandberg says, “For victims of loss, silence is crippling. The two things we want to know when we are in pain are that we are not crazy to feel the way we feel, and to know we have support. When people act like nothing significant happened, it denies us of both of those things.” Eden dies all over again when people avoid talking about her or the aftermath of losing her. I understand it’s our nature to protect and comfort – so bringing up a painful topic seems counterproductive. But you can’t remind me that Eden died. We are aware, all the time, and we love talking about her.

I don’t often let myself feel the weight of how significant losing Eden really was. The trauma of physically losing her is something I can only chip away at. But the aftershocks, the ripple effect, the little losses to follow are easier to digest. (Only by comparison) I almost obsess over them in an attempt to not deal with ‘ground zero’. The Little Losses: Sense of security. Sense of control. Normal life. Normal relationships. Trust. Identity as a mother. I lost so much when I lost Eden- I’m struggling to find the words. I just know that when I look back to who I was a year ago, I just shake my head and think; “that poor woman, she has NO CLUE what is about to happen. She not only is about to get her heart ripped out, but her foundation – the very basis of which she has built her life, her trust, her dreams her entire world is about to be shattered.” And here I am today, picking up the pieces, rebuilding, desperately trying to make sense of the impossible.

Most people would never have to journey through this restoration process. Just like most people come home after work to their houses as they left them. But what if one day your house burned to the ground. And what if that just meant you couldn’t have a house again. Ever. You would have to reprogram your entire life, routines, expectations, thought process. Life would never be the same, and everyone you had ever known gets to go back to their houses – unaware of the massive adjustment you must now undergo. It reminds me of when we evacuated the Forest Fires in Mcmurray. I was so jealous of my friends who all fled to Calgary- they were there together. All the people who understood the unusual emotions we were wrestling with.

It was one thing to have pity, but what we needed was compassion. And apparently compassion comes easier when you are in the same boat, experiencing a similar hardship- or somehow able to allow yourself to “go there”.

In our current situation, I don’t want anyone to understand our painful journey, even if it meant we had a companion. Compassion is between equals. No wonder I am not finding the effects of true compassion. The original meaning in Latin is “to suffer with” No one should have to suffer this loss, nor do I expect anyone to. Our first natural response to pain (ours and someone else’s) is to protect. Self-protect. Heal. Provide every creature comfort available, the opposite of what true compassion calls for. The hurting desire someone to sit with them in their pain, not mask it or distract them. Compassion isn’t between Healer and Wounded (that is pity), it is shared between equals. Compassion is in fact acceptance. Acceptance of the tragedy its self, and acceptance of where that person is at in their journey.

So where am I? Awaiting the third day. All was lost when Mary witnessed the traumatic death of her son. Not only the Hope of the World, but the son she bore, her own flesh, ripped from her, betrayed and beaten. Modern Christians know that He will rise from the dead in three days, but Mary didn’t know that. Her pain was real. And that is where I am left, awaiting the third day. Waiting for the time when all is made right.

“To be sure, it was not Easter Sunday but Holy Saturday, but, the more I reflect on it, the more this seems to be fitting for the nature of our human life: we are still awaiting Easter; we are not yet standing in the full light but walking toward it full of trust.”

-Pope Benedict XVI

I look forward to the day where I am not living in the shadow of death, but walking in full light. I struggle but attempt to practice trust daily. It must be a conscious choice, to trust after my foundation was so shaken. It doesn’t happen every day, but I know I am called to trust that God is doing all things for good. I must trust that God does love me, and knows what is best for me, even when (especially when) I cannot see it. We are still awaiting Easter, after 265 days I am still waiting. But in the meantime, in my winterish state I am learning and growing- even if it doesn’t look like it, I am.