Saturday, August 17, 2013
The Day That Is Not
Today is not my son's first birthday.
Today is not the day we watch him spread cake all over his face and highchair.
Today is not the day we watch him clap his hands in delight or tear wrapping paper or laugh while we sing "Happy Birthday."
This is another August 17 in which I do not hold the baby I expected. The first was last year, when he should have been born.
Then there's this year, when he should be a year old.
And the next August 17ths stretch before me: days that should be special in our family calendar. Days that should be filled with plans and logistics and presents and cake.
Today is not.
Last year I knew it would be a hard day. What surprises me is how hard it is this year.
The hardest thing is feeling that I'm the only one who remembers. I, blessed beyond belief with four beautiful daughters and the most amazing baby boy on the planet, still miss the Baby who is Not.
August 17 may only be significant to me. I can't forget what didn't happen this day. Death will be the last enemy to be destroyed. August 17 will remind me that I am waiting for my Redeemer to make all things new.
Today is not that day.
All things aren't made new yet. My son and I are still separated by the reality of death.
And, even if I'm the only one who remembers, August 17 is not my son's birthday.
In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not. Matthew 2:18
Previous posts about our lost baby: In My Distress and Wherever I've Gone, Isaiah's Day, Things I Know at 20 Weeks.