Grief Emerges
When the doctor returned to the examining room I was sitting on the table composed but stunned. The questions that bounced around in my brain still couldn’t be asked. My mouth wasn’t ready to engage. This had been my first pregnancy. At the time I didn’t know it would be my last. The road ahead would be long and hard but I had to stay present in this dark moment.
The doctor began asking necessary questions: “Where is your husband?” I responded, “He’s not here. He’s at school. He didn’t even know I was pregnant . . . no one knows.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. Then embarrassment climbed atop all the other emotions accumulating at my core. Suddenly I was no longer napping in denial. Reality woke me up.
It rumbled and pushed its way up from a depth I didn’t know existed. Like hot bubbling lava desperate to burst forth from an active volcanic core, grief emerged indescribable. All I did was answer the doctor’s question, but that was enough to cause anguish to churn and rise like waves of nausea determined to force out projectile vomit. Only, this wasn’t vomit, this was the very essence of my being — my soul. My soul knew what happened. It knows everything. It writhed and groaned like it wanted to leave my body in search of relief from the agony holding it captive.
By the time the doctor asked the next question grief gripped my heart. “Where is he?” she inquired with concern. I couldn’t answer. My body felt paralyzed. Waves of sorrow swirled upward and made their way to my shoulders and neck. My head grew hot. As I opened my mouth and struggled to speak, the waves unleashed streams of despair through my eyes. With labored breath I spoke in a slow, quiet whisper, sobs punctuating the sentence, “Heee’s at . . . he’s . . . he . . . heee’s at . . . Fort . . . Leaven . . . worth . . . Kansas.”
The doctor couldn’t understand what I said so she asked the question again, “Where is he?” Once more I fought to release the words, “Fort Leaven . . . worth . . . Kansas.” Then it came. What had been rumbling from the depth of my being finally made its way out in full force. With raw, uninhibited emotion my vocal chords emitted something like the sound of a soul tormented in hell. Crying and sobbing were done. For the first time in my life I WAILED.
It came from a deep, dark, black hole — a place outside my body — a dimension unknown to mankind — a place I’d never been. The doctor held my head to her BDU clad chest and spoke gently, “This is the hardest part of my job.” She had done this before, many times.
She gave me a few minutes to expel the first wave of volcanic grief. A hazy cloud formed around me. I felt anesthetized. In a kind, compassionate manner the doctor continued her questions, “Is there anyone here we can call?” I had to think for a minute but one person came to mind. With that name the doctor went over to her desk and set the notification process in motion.
TO BE CONTINUED:
Women of PWOC, and other interested parties, stay connected for the rest of the story. God displays His faithfulness and compassion each step of the way. He is El Roi: God of Seeing; El Shaddai: God All Sufficient; Jehovah-Jireh: The Lord will Provide; and ultimately, Jehovah-Rophe: The Lord Who Heals.
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“Life Happens – Jesus Answers” is a weekly column addressing the challenges we face in life, coupled with the presence and grace of Jesus, our One True Source of hope and peace. The column’s author, Laura Firtko, can be reached by email here: LifeHappens@pwoc.org
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