Comfort, the word, always takes me back to that uncomfortable place. A hospital bed surrounded by a forest of faces and the smell of alcohol and acetone. They’re removing the polish from toenails and fingernails, making yet another stab in my forearm, trying to pour life back into my body.
While life pours into my belly. And I’m so scared.
My husband reaches through the scrub green drapes to hold my hand.
My pastor comes and prays over me right before they whisk me away.
Two days later I sit in the recliner, and I know the battle’s over, and there will be no baby.
Ever.
I’m alone in this semi-private room, Bible open on lap, reading in 2 Corinthians. “Comfort others like I comfort you.” That’s my Pauline paraphrase.
But I’m numb.
There’s a commotion outside my room, and the nurses wheel her in. A young woman, a teenager.
She’s hidden within a forest of faces, but she’s alone. She has no family with her. So I creep through scrub green drapes and reach for her hand.
As life pours into her belly.
Still sometimes sad,
Sandy
With Lisa Jo and the Five Minute Friday Community on the word prompt, comfort.
“All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us.” ~1 Corinthians 1:3-4 (MSG)
I haven’t experienced this level of loss, Sandra, but I feel like I was right there with you in that room. (And this is so consistent with who you are … to reach out to another to offer comfort.)
I love you.
I love you more. To the moon and back and back again.
Oh Sandra…words fail. So sorry for that memory.
There are a lot of “what-ifs,” Lori. I’d had tubal surgery in order to become pregnant, and having an ectopic was a risk. My doctor felt something was not right and encouraged a D&C, but I couldn’t go there. And then they found a sac in the uterus on ultrasound, and it was all so weird. I know he went back to the lab the night of surgery to try to figure out what might have been “done” differently. But God worked all for good. But still…
That verse has always bothered me, I think because people have told me it means that I’ll be able to comfort people going through my situation. But that never happens. What you’re showing me is that I can take that comfort I receive and share it with anyone, for any situation. I like that. That makes sense.
You are in a hard place, sweet friend. Maybe it will take some distance to get to that point. You will grow a greater understanding. And your strength in the midst of it all is a comfort to me.
I still squirm as Mother’s Day approaches because I ache for all those whose arms ache…
Dear Sandra
I a so sorry to hear that you will never be able to have a child! Your courage and trust in your Lord walking alongside you on this difficult journey brings comfort to my heart, for I know you will never have to carry this sorrow alone!
Blessings and love
Mia
Sweet Mia. The good news is that God brought us two children that we adopted in infancy. They both arrived in miracle fashion–and so when when overwhelmed with the memories and regret and challenges, I always remember this. God’s had/has it covered.
This post touched my heart. You express so beautifully things that are hard to put into words. Praying for your healing from this loss.
Thanks so much, Judith. This was almost 30 years ago, but still the ache and the wondering remains. I’m so grateful for the family God built. Love to you.
There is a deep sorrow that can only find its rest in the surreal calm of surrendering. When you’ve experienced unfathomable loss, as you seem to have, there is really no one better to show how the Lord will come alongside. You’re a true picture of grace. May you continue to know God’s blessings.
Sorrow rests in surrender. Loving that thought.
My deepest dream would be to be a picture of grace. But I so often feel that that my picture is very smeared. Thanks for this. xo
Your writing is so beautiful and deeply touched my soul. I admire your trust and faithfulness to God even in the impossible circumstances you went through. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you so much for coming by, Kelly. Praying big blessings on you.
Oh, sweet sister. My heart aches for you. A prayer for peace so often seems lacking, but it is your peace I pray for. Hugs, love and blessings to you, dear one.
The wound remains, sweet Marcy, but the scar is thick. But sometimes when the weather changes, I remember it’s there. 🙂
Oh, this aches truth. I know this loss and yes, still sad sometimes. Thank you for telling the truth, being a comfort and a hand to hold.
I’m so sorry you’ve felt this, too, Alia. The sadness lingers, doesn’t it, even as life goes on and other blessings come? And all we can do is lean on Him and on each other. Holding hands across the miles.
What beauty to comfort another even amidst your own loss. Thank you for sharing and for the brave honesty of your words. Sitting with you in sadness and sending hugs from afar…xoxo
And isn’t that was sisters are for? To just sit together. I’m putting on some tea. 🙂
Oh, Sandra,
So honest and true ..And so courageous of you to share so you can comfort another…and so beautiful how you reached out to comfort another in your deep pain…I wish I could give you a hug, my brave friend.
Difficult memories to revisit, but your dear hubby was God’s messenger of love and comfort. In turn you were His messenger to someone else, sharing what you had received. (He always provides what’s needed!) I had two miscarriages, although there was a son first, and two daughters later, so my situation isn’t the same. But I well remember the despair of experiencing the loss of those two lives. I hope there is solace for you in remembering that even while coping with your own loss you were a blessing to someone else… as you continue to be.