The Void

Some of you probably saw this one coming: I really, REALLY have issues with God right now. I don't want to talk to him. I'm not giving him a capital H either. He took my baby away, or let someone else take my baby away, and now he is completely silent. No one should be surprised at this; just think about how you would feel toward the ONE person who could save your child but doesn't.

I told a friend recently that, if my time to leave this earth comes anytime soon, I wouldn't want to talk to him when I get up to heaven either, except to ask him where Weston is. Once I have that information, I'm brushing right past God to get to my baby.

What makes this whole journey more difficult is that I am a Christian, and I believe God is all-powerful. He had the power to save my baby, and he didn't do it. In the early weeks after Weston's death, I found a little comfort in my faith, because it meant that Weston is safe and happy in heaven right now, and I will be with him again someday. I was reading a child loss blog, or Facebook post, or something, and I came across a statement from a fellow bereaved parent that essentially said, "As an atheist, I find a lot of comfort in the fact that the world is chaos, that there is no rhyme or reason to any of this." When I first read that, I thought it sounded awful, and absolutely NOT comforting.

But now, I don't know. It might be almost easier to make sense of an innocent child's death if everything was chaotic, and if there was no reason for anything. I would not have to ask "why," because there would be no answer, ever. Things would just happen. To believe and know that someone IS in control, but lets such an unspeakable tragedy happen anyway, raises so many more questions: Why Weston? Why would you let such a horrific thing happen? What did Weston ever do to you? What did I ever do to you?

I have always believed in God, and I have had experiences here and there throughout my life that confirmed, at least for me, his existence, power, and love for me. I, and others I love dearly, have been hurt deeply by so-called Christians, which complicated my feelings about God, Christians, and the church for many years. And, frankly, even before anything happened with Weston, my beliefs were still pretty complicated. During other struggles in my life, I continued to believe the basic tenets of the Christian faith but felt it pointless to pursue a deeper relationship with God and "live the Christian life" because it had not paid off for people I loved or myself.

Gradually, my faith evolved and became more personal. It has become more important to me over the past five years. But I do not fit into the "Christian box" very well (I just made that term up.). I am kind of liberal. I have tattoos. I say "shit" a lot. I believe everyone should have the same rights as everyone else.

Anyway. Before Weston died, God gave me comfort, and I heard him speak to me like never before. I truly felt like he was literally holding me upright and keeping me from a complete breakdown. I believed (and still believe) that he saved Weston's life. The fact that Weston was growing normally inside me with such a worthless placenta seemed to surprise even my perinatologist. No one thought my pregnancy would last until 24 weeks (until the 24th week). My midwife thought I should just throw in the towel on the whole thing and terminate the pregnancy. Being born alive, and with a second Apgar score of 7, we truly thought Weston was a miracle baby.

So, why let him survive all that and then take him away three weeks later with no explanation?

I continued to feel God's presence for a few weeks after Weston died. A college friend gave me a beautiful book written by a Christian woman who lost a child. I read it the week after he died. It affected me so profoundly that I bought a few more copies and donated them to the NICU.

But, after that: NOTHING. I tried to read the Bible and found nothing but destruction, war, judgment, death, and talk of miscarriage, stillbirth, and dead sons. I kid you not. When my life completely fell apart (and remains fallen apart), God is seemingly gone, quiet, apathetic, uncaring...

I started writing this post weeks ago and have left most of it intact, so far. I was very angry then. Now the anger has faded a bit, though, and has been replaced by this void. Which is worse: being incredibly angry at someone or feeling abandoned by them? Who knows? Who cares? It sucks either way.

It has been about 3.5 months since Weston died, and I have only gone to church once. I went to a Taize (singing) service at a neighborhood Episcopal church that I had never visited before a couple of months ago. I did not grow up in the liturgical tradition, so it is a little beyond my comfort zone, but I find it beautiful, soothing, and comforting. In addition to my love of listening to music, I love singing. I was in choir for many years growing up, took voice lessons, sang in the All-Region and All-State choir, etc. And I love singing in church. I got to sing for a whole hour at this Episcopal service. It was a nice service, with candles in addition to the music, but I still felt nothing from God. Admittedly, now I am not seeking him out, but I was then. And, still nothing.

In the beginning, I didn't want to go to our church because I can't handle being around a lot of people right now, unless I'm completely anonymous. That is still the case, and I don't know when it is going to change. (On a side note, perhaps it's another reason I'm dreading the holidays so much: big families=big groups.) But, now it's more than that. Let's assume I am able to somehow go to church anonymously (with a bag over my head, perhaps?): in my familiar, comfortable church. What if, even in the structure that is filled with God's spirit (and I believe it is), I still feel nothing? That is too scary to think about.

Who is responsible for this? Is God ignoring me, or am I too dense to see him, when he is perhaps right in front of me? I guess I have been ignoring him too; I haven't exactly been asking him to reveal himself lately. But I think I'm too scared of what I might (or might not) experience.

I don't know what to do. I still believe in God. Maybe it's simply because it's too hard to imagine Weston being anywhere else right now other than with God. And maybe it's only because, without God, I would never see Weston again. For those reasons, it would be too unbearable not to believe.

But I do still believe on a deeper level. Despite the horrific loss of my baby boy, I have experienced God too much in my life to disbelieve now. So I am left with asking him, "Where are you? And if I could find you, WHY?"

So many people I know and care about are struggling right now. Sick family members, sick children, deaths, complicated pregnancies, spouses in harm's way...these people have faithfully prayed for Weston and my family. I feel horrible that I cannot return the favor right now. I just can't pray.

It must be a good sign that God's seeming absence bothers me. And I also know that I am not alone in my perceived solitude. C.S. Lewis published his journals he kept after his wife's untimely death, and he (C.S. Lewis!) said:

Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be-or so it feels-welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become...What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?...[A friend] reminded me that the same thing seems to have happened to Christ: "Why hast thou forsaken me?"
~C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed at 5-6

And Nicholas Wolterstorff, whose son Eric died in a mountain-climbing accident, said this:

Elements of the gospel which I had always thought would console did not...It did not console me to be reminded of the hope of resurrection...I did not grieve as one who has no hope. Yet Eric is gone, here and now he is gone; now I cannot talk with him, now I cannot see him, now I cannot hug him, now I cannot hear of his plans for the future. That is my sorrow...That's my grief. For that grief, what consolation can there be other than having him back?
Lament for a Son at 31-32

I have no explanation. I can do nothing else than endure in the face of this deepest and most painful of mysteries. I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth and resurrecter of Jesus Christ. I also believe that my son's life was cut off in its prime. I cannot fit these pieces together. I am at a loss. I have read the theodicies produced to justify the ways of God to man. I find them unconvincing.  To the most agonized question I have ever asked I do not know the answer. I do not know why God would watch him fall. I do not know why God would watch me wounded. I cannot even guess...My wound is an unanswered question. The wounds of all humanity are an unanswered question.
Id. at 67-68

I could continue my questions on this subject ad nauseum. But the ultimate question, why did Weston have to die, will always go unanswered. I am positive of that. Where is God? Will he find me? Will I find him? How? When? Those are questions I hope are answered, sooner rather than later. Losing Weston has caused me enough pain to fill up a thousand lifetimes. I do not need the pain of a silent God on top of it.

So God, please find me, or help me find you. I have no idea what to say to you, but if you could let me know you're still around, I would be grateful.