In those early days after losing Alex, I thought I dealt with the idea that God was punishing me for something. Over the course of the year, I thought I dealt with my anger over the idea that my child had to lose his life over some "plan" that I just wasn't going to understand until I died. I have wiggled and folded and pressed and reshaped my way of thinking about this over and over and over...all in the hopes that I will someday make enough sense out of it that I will feel some sense of peace. But today while reading through my archives I realized just how little sense it all makes. Unless...
Unless there is something to the idea that God is a punishing God.
Maybe I do deserve it. Maybe my babies deserved it. Maybe I should have known better than to accept that made-for-tv bullshit that God loves me. Maybe God is just really pissed at me for something.
I have spent so much energy clinging to this idea that God wouldn't do this to my babies just because he was angry with me. But maybe I was just wrong. Maybe God isn't all love and kindness. Maybe God is vindictive and angry.
All signs on this road seem to tell me that it's over...a dead-end...that we will never welcome another living baby into our home. We're either stubborn or stupid...because we buy crib bedding and decorate a room that my husband calls "the baby's room." And all the while, God is laughing. And it's not a joyful laugh.
I peer into the darkness every day and think of how easy it would be to give in to it...to just let go. What am I holding on for anyway? Some illusory promise of eternal life? I have no idea how to hold fast to that when the promise of God's love already seems to be an empty promise in and of itself. How many times am I expected to get hit over the head before I just let go of the white-knuckled grip I have on...whatever...my dreams...my love...my boys.
And maybe I deserve it all. As I sit here and look at this, it's all I can come up with.