I look for meaning in everything because, as my mom always said, everything happens for a reason. At least I used to believe so. Not anymore. This morning I realized that there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to anything about life.
What possible reason could exist for good people like us to lose the precious miracle baby we waited six years to meet?
Why do crackheads get the chance to pop out kids like pez dispensers and people like us – people who do absolutely everything they can to ensure they will have a happy, healthy baby – go through absolute hell only to end up in a tragic situation?
I used to believe wholeheartedly that the universe hears everything and that if a person believes in something enough, it will happen and good things will come. I used to believe that there was a universal connection of all things, a One Being (call it God if you want to), that balanced out the positive and negative in the world. I used to believe in Karma and I used to think that if I were a positive force in the universe I would be a part of keeping that balance. I used to have faith.
My faith hasn’t been shaken, it has been shattered.
In the span of 30 hours, all of my beliefs have been stamped out by the giant, unforgiving foot of death. It looms, towering and dark, ready to crush my heart, and any hope that may remain within it, at a moment’s notice. I no longer believe in anything except love, pain and emptiness – in that order.
All of the obstacles I have overcome in my life – the miscarriages, illness, the death of my mom – none of them have affected me even remotely compared to this experience.
I feel defeated. Spent. Hopeless. The pain in my heart (and in my now empty womb) is so deep and so profound that I feel it in every movement, every thought.
The moment I saw my daughter’s angry red face for the first time and heard her little cry was the happiest moment of my entire life. Nothing can even come close to the love and joy that filled me up.
The moment the doctor’s removed her life support and I held her in my arms until all the life went out of her little body was the most devastating, most agonizing, most bittersweet torture I have ever endured. On the one hand, I was full of gratitude that she would no longer be subjected to all the poking, prodding and drastic medical measures the NICU doctors and nurses had been using to try to save her life. On the other, I was full of raw pain as I felt all of our hopes and dreams slip into oblivion as the tiny perfection of her grew heavier and cold in my arms.
What could possibly be the reason for this? Why would the universe allow a child to come into the world with such hope and promise, only to have her struggle for nearly 30 hours before finally allowing her suffering to stop, and ours begin anew?
So many times you hear people say that God works in mysterious ways and you hear people say that they just have to trust in God to reveal his reasons or to bring method to madness.
I say bullshit.
There is no God. There is no omniscient presence out there that looks down on us and decides who stays and who goes. I have seen the truth and it tells me that everything in our lives that happens just happens. We want so hard to believe that everything has purpose and meaning because these things give us faith, so we look for it in every experience and search for it when painful experiences occur. Why? Because we need to have faith in something. Faith in something is so much easier than no faith at all. Fatith leads to hope and hope pulls us through.
Two days ago, I had a baby girl who came into the world kicking and screaming. She was feisty and strong and heartbreakingly adorable, with perfect little hands and feet and her daddy’s curly hair. She was beautiful. She was my faith, my hope, my rhyme and reason for everything.
Today, she is dead and we barely had the chance to hold her before she slipped away forever. We will never be able to touch her again. We will never know her more than we knew her in that short 30 hours. We will never see her grow up or hear her speak or laugh. All we have are memories of a roller coaster ride of emotion, one small moment where she was strong enough to grasp my hand and look up at me before they had to sedate her, and a lasting pain from watching her transition from a healthy, beautiful baby girl into a sick, bloated, purple, blotchy, lifeless corpse.
Where’s the rhyme and reason in that?