Our son a few hours after his birth.
When our first grandson was born six months ago, I expected joy, and it was there.
I expected to love him at first sight, and I did.
I expected to cry tears of happiness, and they came.
Every emotion was expected, save one.
I never expected to grieve. Even so, grief found me.
How Could I Have Known?
How could I have known grief would punch me in the gut when our son wheeled the isolette holding his son into the lounge area where four grandparents waited eagerly for their first glimpse of their grandchild? How could I have known this first meeting would unleash a host of powerful emotions buried deep inside my mother’s heart for over 30 years? How could I have known this arrival would rip open wounds created when our newborn was diagnosed with EA/TEF and life-flighted 750 miles away for surgery before he was a day old?
The Grief Was Real
Expected or not, the grief came. And it was real. Very, very real.
Grief for dozens of photos of a healthy, unscarred newborn we never were able to take.
Grief for those first days of quiet nurturing our newborn never knew.
Grief for the pain our baby bore.
Grief for my milk coming in thanks to a pump instead of a baby nuzzling at my breast.
Grief over not getting to take our baby home after a short stay in the hospital.
Grief after grief.
Wave after wave.
Tears upon tears.
That no one, not even my husband, understood.
The Guilt Was Real, Too
Soon guilt came, too.
Guilt because my joy at birth of a healthy grandson wasn’t bigger than my grief.
Guilt because I wasn’t perceptive enough to see the grief coming.
Guilt because I felt like I was outside, looking in.
Guilt because my grief felt a lot like envy.
Guilt because I wasn’t a good enough Christian to overcome the guilt myself.
Grief and Joy Together
But then, a verse from Isaac Watt’s hymn, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, comforted my aching heart.
See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Reading those words, I knew that God understood my feelings. Because when His Son died on the cross, the Father’s sorrow and love mingled together, like my joy and grief did on the day of our grandson’s birth. I knew God had once stood where I was now standing–at the place where joy and grief meet.
And He met me there.
With grace, not guilt.
With blessing, not blame.
With compassion, not condemnation.
With care, not censor.
The Goodness of Grief
He showed me that both my joy and grief were good. He showed me that though the grandma grief will never go away completely, it can increase my joy for the blessings in our grandson’s life. God gave me permission to
rejoice in this baby’s good health,
marvel at the ease with which he sucks and swallows,
appreciate his days secure in his parents’ loving arms,
delight in cuddling his small body close to mine.
When I hold this grandson as I could never hold my own son, I sense God healing my old wounds with His tears.
In that moment, I embrace my joy, my grief,
and the God who dwells with me in them,
and in every place where sorrow and love flow mingled down,
in every life where joy and grief meet.
How has God met you in the place where joy and grief meet?
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Thanks so much for sharing this. My older son was born at 27 weeks gestation and had an 8.5 month NICU stay and years of medical complications. My 8 month old son was born at 34 weeks and spent just 8 days in the NICU. I got to hold him right after he was born, and while we were separated for a while, I got to nurse him and experience many moments and “firsts” with him that we didn’t get to experience with our older son. Because it had been over 6 years, and I had processed my emotions so many times, I was stunned by the amount of pure grief that I felt when my second son was born. Everything my second son did just reminded me of all that my first son, my husband, and I had missed out on. I am still amazed that in my 8 month old son’s life, he has barely felt any pain. As opposed to my older son, who was numb to the pain by the third week….
We have found such joy with our second son, and in watching the relationship of our two boys. I think I’ll be dealing with the joy and grief for years to come, thank you for putting it in a Biblical perspective for me.
Dear Leigh,
Thank you for sharing your story, both of loss and restoration. How wise you are to recognize and allow your grief and joy to exist together without guilt.
Jolene
Jolene:
What great honesty and insight. Thank you so much for articulating your conflicting emotions, it helps to see “yes, I’m normal” others feel these. It’s not just me.” Thanks again for the post.
I have been grieving the loss of my father-in-law who died a year ago of liver failure. He was the last family support we had as my mother-in-law died four years ago with cancer. My parents live far away and aren’t supportive; my father has never seen any of our five children. With three kids with special needs this has been very difficult. Where joy comes in is the fact that I have reached out to a couple in the area whose grown adult children and grandchildren live far away. They have begun to step in as my surrogate parents and my children’s grandparents. Their unconditional love for my family has helped me to begin the path of spiritual and emotional healing from scars I have had since childhood. I have started to experience hope and joy again knowing I have a heavenly Father who sees my needs, my family’s needs, our grief, and provides a Godly couple who shower us with His love.
Christine,
I am so sorry for your many losses and thankful for your heart open to our heavenly Father who loves you and grieves with you.
Jolene
Jolene, thank you so much for your transparency. I love this quote by Gibran – “your joy is your sorrow unmasked. The deeper sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you are able to contain.” Our kids certainly teach us about the many ways the Lord uses joy and sorrow together to help us to grow beyond ourselves. Praying for you in this new stage of life
Thanks Laurie and Kathleen for your comforting words. When it happened, one of the greatest comforts was knowing I could count on my friends who are moms of kids with special needs to understand.
Laurie, you described the reaction perfectly. And Kathleen, your grief over what you and your daughter will not experience together is another example of the kind of loss we live with every day.
Recently, I was helping out my cousin’s daughter by making some minor alterations to her prom dress. She is very petite and I have helped her and her older sisters in this way several times over the years. She is a senior and mentioned that this will be her last prom. I felt grief, not because it is her last prom, but because I will never find myself altering dresses and preparing my daughter, who is also petite and also in high school, for prom. My daughter has physical, health, and cognitive impairments. Attending prom with her boyfriend wearing a sparkly dress and high heels is not likely in her future. Reminders of these things make me sad.
Oh, Jolene. I just wish I could have been there to hug and cry with you in that moment. I know that conflicted feeling. That “what the heck? where did this come from?!” feeling. Praising God for your honest words, and for the healing God gives in the grief swells.