What started out as my simple morning walk with the boys and Buster (minus Connor who was at preschool) turned into something that I can't stop thinking about. Just a few seconds away from our house, I passed one of our neighbors - you know, the people you're sort of familiar with because they live near you, have kids somewhere near your kids age range, and are as friendly as you are when you see them, the people you exchange pleasantries with when you see them, that you trade compliments with on each others kids and their little moments, and who you usually walk past afterward without much other thought than what nice neighbors you have.
This neighbor was sitting on her front porch swing, where I've often seen her before taking a Mommy break by simply reading a book or sipping on a glass of something tasty (ice tea, I always guess, but truly have no idea). She has a toddler that is somewhere between Connor's age and the little guys, and we frequently meet them as we're walking or strolling around the neighborhood. She was also, very recently, very obviously pregnant. We had even chatted about the due date and the little sister that would be joining her little girl - simple, basic small talk among friendly neighbors. So when I saw her out, for the first time in quite some time, I paused to say hello and exchange a bit of small talk. I assumed, of course, that she had simply been inside because she was a Mommy with a toddler and a new baby. I knew that drill, and how exhausting and shut-in you can sometimes be during that time.
I should have known better, but I just didn't see it. She was dressed in a simple black dress and looked a little sad. In my quick glance, I probably just assumed she was tired and getting a much needed break from her little ones who might have chanced to be sleeping at the same time. So of course, I have to ask, as most neighbors or friendly acquaintances might upon seeing her after said due date, how the new baby is doing. And that's when I heard one of the saddest things you can ever hear. Her little girl had apparently been born with several health complications and had passed away earlier this week after a much-too short life. The visitation and funeral were today, and she was probably outside trying to get just a few minutes calm. And I, the unsuspecting neighbor, probably destroyed that moment of calm as so many well-meaning people probably have this week.
I offered my sincerest sympathy and prayers, offered any help we might be able to offer in such a difficult time, as well as you can do from such a distance. I wanted to run up there from my place on the sidewalk and give her a big hug and cry with her on her swing, but my puppy would have either licked her to death or knocked her off in his excitement, and my twins would have screamed something terrible if I had tried to move closer to her and away from them, and neither of these things seemed likely to help her. So I once again offered my sympathy, wiped the tears from my eyes, and continued on.
Even now, I still want to run back there and give her a hug, which she's probably had thousands of today. Perhaps I don't know her that well, but I know her enough. She's nice and friendly, always has a smile on her face and a kind word when you pass. She's a good mother, who's always outside doing sweet and fun things with her toddler, even pushing her in one of those bright plastic push cars all the way up to the end of a long pregnancy (and doing so with that same big smile). Above all, she is a mother, just as I am. I simply cannot imagine her sadness or her loss. I can empathize with her love for her child and know that to lose a child would be unbearable. But I have not felt it and I cannot imagine it. And I also have no idea what I, or anyone, even those who know her and her family so much better than I do, could do that might be of any comfort or help. And that makes me feel terribly sad and terribly helpless.
It seems there is so much more of this kind of sadness in the world today. Perhaps when I was younger, it was just shielded from me by my parents and family, but lately it seems to be everywhere. One of the girls I used to work with delivered a stillborn baby just weeks before her due date. One of the people Josh works with found out early in a pregnancy that their son had a heart defect and likely wouldn't survive (he was born early and he also passed away after a much-too short life). Someone else we know found out very early in a pregnancy that the baby wasn't progressing and would be miscarried. Another has a three-year old daughter battling cancer. And now our poor neighbors have lost a little girl. So much sadness and loss. So much helplessness.
Pray for those who are hurting and have lost. Hold on tight and cherish the blessings you have been given.
