If you are reading these words, I’m sorry.
It means that your child has died. And whether they were stillborn or sixty, we never plan to bury our children.
Your grief has been shared by people for generations, and yet it is your grief in this moment.
Though he was the king, David wept and fasted as his child was dying. Mary the mother of Jesus stood at the cross, watching her son die.
As I look for words for you and for me in this moment, “disordered” is a good way to describe what is happening. The death of a child is out of the normal order of death. And it disorders our lives.
We had dreams and plans, we had stories that were going to be told around this child as they grew up. And the dreams and the plans and the stories are suddenly changing, too.
There isn’t anything that can fix this moment.
There is just this thought, which may or may not be helpful. God knows what it’s like to lose a child. And so, when we talk to God, or cry out, or holler, we are talking to (or talking at) a person who has an understanding.