Published December 24th 2015
Two years ago, you took your first breath and cried your first cry. We were able to see you, feel you and breathe you in. And we savored every moment we had with you, because we knew your days with us were short. The hospital became our home for 11 days; the sounds, the voices, the busyness of your room-it became comforting to us. In our loneliness of grieving for a baby that we knew we would not hold very long, we found solace in the bustling sounds of the pediatric intensive care unit.
We talk about your all the time; we share your memories with everyone who asks. And we are always questioned, “How did you get through losing a child? How are you able to cope with the loss of your son?” The answer is always Jesus. Because though we found momentary peace with the busyness of a hospital, we have eternal peace with Christ. And though we found comfort in the sounds of the machines that were monitoring you, we knew that there would come a time that the machines would be turned off.
And there would be silence.
We’ve never known silence like the silence of your last night with us. It was the kind of silence where we could hear and feel our own hearts beating, and hear you breathe.
Because of that silence, we listened as you took your last breath.
Because of that silence, we were able to hold our breathless son, and cry out to Jesus-praising Him for sustaining us, for blessing us and for holding us still.
We ran to Him, so He can hold us still.
He held us still throughout our entire time with you. We felt the hands of God upon us, and we felt such peace with you, even though we knew we’d be leaving the hospital with empty arms.
That kind of peace only comes from stillness and silence in Christ Jesus.
January 4th 2014
It was a silent night.
It was a holy night.
And we are able to rest in Heavenly Peace,
Because Christ holds us, still.