Last Friday morning, I woke up to the horrible news that some family friends lost their baby during the night. They woke up and discovered that their four-month-old daughter had died in her sleep. My heart started beating faster in fear as I read the news; I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for them. Throughout the day I kept thinking of them and what they were doing – where they putting together funeral plans? How was it bringing their baby at the hospital for the autopsy? Did they have to fill out a police report? How were they coping? And with each thought my heart broke because I knew the grief that was most likely overcoming them. The grief that is all too fresh in my memory still.
This past weekend, we went to Matt’s parents’ cabin to go deer hunting. This would be my first time hunting and from the news of the baby’s passing, death was very blatantly on my mind. I was already nervous about hunting but the news about the baby added weight to my thoughts. We were going to be shoot an animal, that animal would die. Death. And what if something went wrong? Like the shotgun accidentally shoots or we accidentally fall out of a deer stand? Those things could mean… death. [Thankfully, neither of those things happened. We didn’t shoot any deer either.]
More often than not, lately, death has been on my mind. Death is so strange to me, not in that it is foreign or unknown, cause it’s not, but in that it is bizarre. I’m so frustrated about how permanent death is on this side of heaven. Sometime I get frustrated that I don’t know when death is going to happen for me or my loved ones. I want to know because I want to be able to prepare my heart to deal with the aftermath. But then I come to the conclusion that it’s a good thing that I don’t know. I have tried to wrap my mind around it many times and just when I think I’m getting close, one thought can immediately expand it into something bigger, and I have to start all over again.