Getting Back to Confessions of a Grieving Parent

Confession #7: It’s my fault.

It’s not. We know that. But underneath it all…at the core of our being…we blame ourselves. At least I do. Frankly, it doesn’t matter how irrational it may seem. The “what if’s” plague the grieving parent.

You can take any circumstance of child loss…the parents blame themselves in some way. This is the sheer definition of adding insult to injury…kicking somebody when they’re down…the proverbial knife in the back. And we do it to ourselves. But can I sincerely ask that you not scoff at how ridiculous that is? Not helpful.

Take Zoe. She had an extreme heart condition that left her out of oxygen, out of endurance, and, largely, out of hope. We knew it was a dire picture that couldn't look more bleak than her blue-lipped, 48 SAT little self could be. It was a miracle she had lived this long. Truly a miracle. Every doctor said so...and we truly believed she was a walking miracle. God had sustained her life for 3 of the longest years any child had ever lived. All the odds were stacked against any medical intervention changing the coarse of her life. But we fully believed the Almighty One would swoop in and show his amazing power in such a miraculous way that everyone that saw it would be in awe of the Healer.

Then she died. After every attempt humanly possible to save her life...with some of the best physicians in the country...amid the fervent praying of people all over the world. She died. 

And I blamed...myself. Zoe went into the hospital at her peak health and never came out. I quickly began to obsess about my role in her death. 

The doctors said she couldn't have lived much longer in that condition. A month...maybe 2. But God had kept her alive for years when she should've died a long time ago. Who's to say He wouldn't have continued to do the same?

Another issue was that, while she was in a terrible state when we first adopted her, she had turned a significant corner once we'd done the balloon procedure. Maybe we should've left it alone at that point...given her more time to grow stronger. 

At the bare minimum, we could've just had more time with her if we'd have waited on the surgery. Although we would've never been prepared for her death, we felt robbed. 

And the Enemy used all these grief-filled thoughts to lead me to say, "Look what I did. Zoe's dead because of me."

Now I usually don't share the resolution to these confessions, but I didn't want to leave you hanging this time.  This arrow of the adversary is too deadly not to give a shield of defense.

I've since shared this with several parents that have lost children, and, I'll admit, it brings me comfort every time I think it or say it. I pray it's been some measure of comfort to others as well.

Here it is.

God is not manipulated by my decisions. His plans for Zoe's life were not blown up in smoke when we took her into surgery that day. The Sovereign One did not throw His hands up in the air when the surgeon made that first cut and say, "Well, great. I had her whole life planned out, but they screwed it all up!"  Nor did He shout out, "WHAT?!? NO WAY!"

Just. Not. Possible. 

I do not have that level of clearance. None of us do. 

*sigh* 

Thank you, Lord.