Sunday, January 26, 2020

Living in Darkness after Child Loss


It Will Be Well

You know, it is not easy to get to a point where I can say “It is well with my soul” after all I have been through. There have been times when it was not well with my soul. My soul was screaming out in pain, as if it had been stabbed repeatedly with great violence. I wondered if I would ever be able to say again that it was well with my soul.
How does one find the ability to be well, deep in her soul, after suffering a stillbirth and then two miscarriages? The loss of each baby took a part of my soul. My heart was ripped out with each loss. My wounded soul was slashed open after just healing from the last loss. The scars that each loss has left on my soul make it very tender, sensitive, and easily cracked open again.
I am no longer whole because three parts of me were torn away—buried. One in the cold, dark, damp earth. Cleaved from my womb only to be taken straight into a darkness that mirrored my soul. Two others were not even given a chance at experiencing life since they were destroyed even as my very inner being cried out for their light to be able to shine.
Darkness overcame my soul and for a very long time, I wondered if I would ever see or experience light again.
I lived in a deep, pitch-black cave where I was unable even to move because I could not even see my hand in front of my face. When I did try to stir around in my cave, I would fall, stumble, and bruise my body from head to toe. It was cold. Damp. There were noises that made the hair on the back of my neck and my arms stand up on end. I could feel the evil surrounding me as I wept deep, soul-wrenching sobs from morning ‘til night, night ‘til morning.
The tears never stopped flowing. They created a stream in my cave that ran no-where, as far as I could tell. No matter how hard or long I looked for the end or the beginning, it continued on into perpetuity.
Then came the day when the tiniest pin-prick of light suddenly appeared off in the distance. After being in the darkness for so long, at first I did not believe it was real. I knew I had finally begun hallucinating in the darkness. I had been without light for so long, I was imagining that it was calling to me.
Ever so carefully, I began stumbling my way towards it. I continued to fall, bruise myself, and weep deep in my very being, but I steadily made my way towards that tiny light.
That beautiful light began to grow larger the closer I got to it, but it still seemed so very far way. For a long time, I gave up attempting to get to it. I simply sat in the same spot, weeping and wondering why the light never got any closer no matter how long I traveled towards it.
One not so very special day, I heard something.
            “Polly. PollyAnna. Come out. I am here.”
            Now I was hearing things as well as hallucinating? My terror grew with each call of my name.
            Instead of going towards the light—towards the voice, I ran, as well as I could, deeper into the cave to hide. I was afraid.
I was afraid of the light.
I was afraid of the tender voice calling my name.
No matter how deep I went into my cave, I could still hear the voice, “Polly. PollyAnna. It’s ok. I’m here. I will wait as long as necessary. I will never leave you.”
            Slowly, with shaky, tiny, stumbling, tentative steps, I began the journey once again towards the light.
            And the voice.
            The tender-loving voice never stopped calling my name, speaking words of encouragement.
            The day came, finally, when the light began to grow and I could see not just my hand in front of my face, but the walls of my cave.
            Hope began to stir deep inside.
Every time I stopped to catch my breath, I moved on as quickly as possible.
I was no longer afraid of the light.
            Or the voice.
            I desperately wanted to reach the light and see the man who was calling my name. I knew that all would be well once I walked into the light. I became desperate and never stopped even to catch my breath.
I began to run, slipping, sliding, falling—again and again, but this time, instead of giving up or running back into the cave, I kept moving forward towards the light.
            The sound of the man’s voice grew louder with passing step. But not louder as in He was shouting; just louder in that I could hear Him more clearly. I knew He would fill the hole that ruptured open each time I had lost a baby.
I needed to get to Him.

Finally.
There He was.
He was sitting on a large rock at the entrance to the cave. As I came into view, He stood and held out His arms so I could walk into His welcoming embrace. He held me for a long time, crooning soft, gentle, loving words into my ears as He held me close to His beating heart.
            When the tears slowed, He pulled away, took me by the hand, and led me out, fully into the light, away from the cave. He stopped. We turned and watched as a giant stone was rolled in front of the cave, sealing it for all eternity.
            That was the moment when I realized that my soul was mended. Yes, there would still be tears to come, but with Him by side, holding my hand, it was finally well with my soul.



Polly Anna Watson, Wednesday, January 22, 2020; revised: Friday, January 24, 2020
“It is Well” by Horatio Spafford and the new version by Kristine DeMarco

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