While scrolling through Facebook today, I stumbled across an article about a woman who found out she had stage four cancer while she was pregnant with her first child. She was induced when the baby was 33 weeks old, and then she pursued aggressive treatment in the face of overwhelming odds. Miraculously, she was spared, and went on to have two more children. Today, she advises people to never give up.
I think when some people see stories like this, they wonder why this woman was deserving of a miracle when their mother or brother or daughter or best friend was not spared from whatever fate took their lives. I have such moments of pain, when I wonder why some are spared and my daughter was taken. Were we not worthy of the miracle we prayed so hard for while sweet Hailey was still alive?
Yes, this goes back to my earlier blog post about asking "Why NOT me?". It also goes toward something I want to teach our son. I want him to know he is important. To me, to his Daddy, and to all our extended family. I want him to know he has a place in this world and is valued. But what I will also teach our son is that everyone is important to someone.
When you spend time in a hospital with someone who is severely sick, you realize illness is the great equalizer. It really doesn't matter if you are wealthy or famous or brilliant or incredibly attractive or the opposite of all of those things. Sickness doesn't discriminate. We prayed so hard for our daughter, but every other parent in the NICU likely prayed just as hard for their children.
And so, through my walk with Hailey, I came to this realization: we, as individuals, do not differ in importance but in purpose. I don't know why that pregnant woman was miraculously cured of her cancer, but it comes at no cost to me or my family. I cannot know God's purpose for her, or perhaps even for the additional children she bore that she otherwise wouldn't have. They may do great things. My daughter's purpose was determined to be different, and maybe someday, someone will do great things because of the lessons I'm sharing from her. I still wish it could have been different. It still hurts. But I press on. It is all I can do. Sometimes I'm amazed that I'm still standing.
Over the past week or two, there have been many days when I've been filled with worry. We are moving halfway across the country in a month, and then my husband will deploy. He went away for just one week recently, and I noticed how much harder my grief became when he was not with me. Which is funny, because we don't talk about it all the time, or I don't always need him to hold me when I cry. But I guess my husband's presence in the home in and of itself calms me.
Truthfully, I've been indulging in a pity party. Some nights while my husband was gone, I'd cry myself to sleep. Sobbing and asking God how hard life is supposed to get. But I cannot know what He has in store for us. And when the news broke about the chemical attack in Syria and I saw the footage of the man who lost more than twenty members of his family, to include his precious twins who appeared to be close to my son's age, I felt ashamed. I thought again of the man who lost his entire family to a shipwreck and then penned, "It is Well with My Soul." My suffering is nothing compared to these men.
And so I remind myself: We differ in purpose, not importance. And there is always, always, always, someone else out there walking a harder road than our own. So I can be thankful, not resentful.
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