I read a really sad thing today. I'm sure if you have a friend who owns a little-girly boutique/home business and has a FB page you've seen the link to this blog. A young couple's 4 month old baby girl died. DIED. From what I gathered she just STOPPED BREATHING. This just happened last week, and the grieving mother has been posting about the viewing and funeral. It is absolutely devastating.
I've been scouring the hundreds of comments to find out what happened to her little girl. But, from the sound of it, they have no answers. So, of course I'm on Code Red high alert panic. And of course I'm punched-in-the-gut beyond sad for this poor family.
But here's the thing. From what I've gathered, she and her family and friends are extremely (? very? somewhat?) religious. And while she's devastated, she's able to take some comfort that her baby is with Jesus. And you know what? I'm a little envious of that Faith.
When Calla died, both C and I talked about how it would be comforting to have a strong, or even doubtful, belief in a higher power, a benignly indifferent God who had a plan and a reason. SomeOne who might provide answers, or at least SomeOne to whom we could direct our sorrow, ask for solace, beseech answers.
But we don't. I don't want to get into specifics, because even for me my Faith is confusing. To whom do I direct my pleas for comfort? The cluster of energy we call the Universe? The trees and the wind? The pavement as I run over it?
Logic and reason and just personal preference won't allow me to stick with the religion in which I was raised. I am incredibly lucky to be a member of our Unitarian Universalist church where I'm able to candidly puzzle these things out. But in matters of grief, and loss, and moving forward while remembering, I don't really have anywhere to direct my heart.
Sending out much love to that grieving family who misses their baby girl dearly. That is something I understand.