The police came to my home to investigate for a “crime scene”. It was the protocol for a death at home without a doctors supervision…
He wasn’t raised from the dead. There were no miracles to make this foolish nightmare end. The life was never returned to him and his blood began to flow out of his untied umbilical cord. I heard David’s broken voice in the distance say, “It’s over Jame. Let it go.”
All I remember was a weight so heavy upon my chest I felt I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel this, life has been good . Happy. My babies are my life. Dave’s life. This dark place was someplace I couldn’t go. I refuse. I went through the motions without tears – I needed a shower to remove the blood and I was too weak to stand – Dave had to help me. Tie the cord, wash the baby, dress him in the little gown I had just sewed for him as his welcome to our family. “I want pictures.” “A lock of hair.” “No,” I was encouraged by the women attending, I would remember what he looks like. No pictures. No hair. It was alright they said, it would all be sealed in my memory. He had been weighed, measured, head circumference. He was beautiful- and big. At almost 12 pounds, and over 22 inches long he looked 3 months old at birth. He was perfect with lots of thick dark hair. That’s all I can remember. It was a lie – I no longer remember what he looked like. But I see him through the eyes of faith being held by the unseen God I see through those same eyes.
Many don’t believe that there is a God, or that He is sovereign over our life, but I do. Life is like a beautiful symphony full of happy measures as well a heartbreaking ones, but God is always a vital part of the piece. Sometimes I feel like He is the Conductor and every note is played according to his hand; other times he may be a prominent piano, or the Concertmaster leading with His mournful violin – but He is present.
It was about 10:30 at night and we had to take care of our son. Dave called a funeral parlor not knowing what else to do, or who to turn to. I didn’t know it was a crime scene, I didn’t know that there would be a state detective, the coroner, and a state’s attorney, along with the funeral director – but God did, and is this concerto he conducted the players.
The detective came in and kneeled in front of me as I cradled Micaiah in my arms. I vaguely remember him telling me he was sorry for my loss. He apologized for having to ask me questions and for bringing the others with him explaining to me about the crime scene. He told me he understood what I was feeling because he had buried his two year old daughter just a few months previous. I told him his daughter was with Jesus. I spoke to him about the hope I had of spending eternity with my son and that he could see his baby daughter someday too if he knew Jesus. Someone else was speaking the words while I watched it happen from a place outside myself. Surreal. Shock. In my heart I’ve always known it to be true, but in my flesh, nothing was real. I asked him questions about the crime scene – about what they looked for. He reassured me that he could see by our play room, our homeschool classroom, and our family pictures, that we loved our children; he told me we weren’t suspect and reassured me it was OK. And then it was time.
That’s when Dave asked if he could carry our son to the waiting hearse – that is when I heard the piercing scream in the room and realized it was my own. That was the first time I saw a shadow fall upon David’s face; a shadow I would come to recognize as the burden of believing he had failed. He had failed his son. He had failed his family. Life was never going to be the same.
“We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.” 2 Cor. 4:7 NLT
Note: Our story is a message of the Light out of darkness. Life has never been the same for David and I or our children, but it has been life and it has been good. God has walked beside us every step, every pain, and every trial. I love Him more each day as the reality of the cross becomes crystal clear. Even when we fail at our instrument, He is there to hold our hand upon the bow and give us the music. In our weakness He is made strong. When others forsake us, He is our constant companion. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and though we may stumble and fall, the light will get brighter if we just keep moving forward one step at a time.