Unmending the Veil

by Lisa Heaton

  By the look on her face, he was certain they would need privacy. Often they sat on the porch and rocked, but he could sense this would not be one of those days. Standing, he indicated she should follow him. “Tell me now.”

  Following him inside, she took her usual seat. When he was seated across from her, she began, “When we moved back from California, I was pregnant, three months. We were so excited and could hardly wait to be settled in and begin our family. My parents were overjoyed at the thought of their first grandchild. They helped us pay for our house so I would not have to work.”

  Chris sat waiting, knowing the worst was to come. Either she lost the baby, or the baby died. Whichever it was, he was beginning to understand her first stitch a little more. She had been through so much heartache and pain, there was little wonder why she was in the shape she was in.

  She sat for several minutes, unable to go on. When this happened, he was always patient with her and waited for her to begin again. He never pressed her. Finally, she whispered, “His name was Michael, and he was the sweetest little baby you have ever seen. Big, he was really big even when he was born.”

  Already tears were rolling down her cheeks and falling onto her shirt. Earlier, when Mike was there, his did the same – ironic how their tears were being mingled again over the one thing that caused the greatest heartbreak of their lives. “Tell me how he died.”

  “They call it SIDS.” She gripped the arms of the chair and closed her eyes. With them closed, she could see Michael so clearly. “When I approached his crib, he was just lying there, cold and not breathing. I picked him up and held him to me. There was this sound, this loud and shrill sound, and I kept wondering what could make such a horrific noise.” Opening her eyes, she told him, “It was me. I screamed until nothing came out anymore.” Pulling her knees up to her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in them. In her mind, she could see every aspect of his room vividly. She could feel the soft material of his terrycloth pajamas on her hands and smell the distinct scent of baby powder.

  Chris sat quietly. Her shoulders were shaking and he so wanted to go to her and comfort her. If he thought he had what it would take to bring her some relief, he would certainly not hesitate. But there in the moment, he discerned how much deeper her trauma was than what he had the wisdom or power to overcome. “Lord,” he prayed, “do something. I’m in way over my head.”

  The sights and smells and sounds of that day threatened to send Robin over the edge of some emotional cliff. This penetrating and excruciating pain was what she had been avoiding for years. Jumping to her feet, holding out her hand toward him, she whispered, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” She began to sob, her breath catching in her throat. In her mind she could see Michael’s lifeless face. There was no smile of recognition, as when she normally lifted him from his crib. His eyes were closed, as if sleeping peacefully. But he was not sleeping, he was dead and she was screaming. Dropping to her knees, she continued to weep. Doubling over, she rested her face in her hands on the floor. “I was sleeping. Why was I sleeping?”

  He was unable to understand her. Her words came between racking sobs, and at times were indistinguishable from her cries. Kneeling beside her, he placed his hand on her back and suggested, “Take a minute, breathe.”

  For several minutes, she rocked and cried. Finally, unable to look back at that day any longer, she rose up and looked at him. Out of breath and nearly in as much pain as she was the very day it happened, she admitted, “My baby died while I was sleeping.” Tears fell from her face and onto the floor. Shaking her head violently, she cried, “I never, ever took naps, no matter what. Why was I sleeping that day? If I would have been awake, I could have saved him.”

  Still kneeling there with her, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. The look of anguish on her face was beyond anything he had ever encountered. Her words expressed more than grief, they actually spoke of the guilt she carried. “No, there was nothing you could have done.”

  “I prayed and begged God to give him back to me.” The anger she felt toward Him was as fresh in the moment as it was the day she watched the first scoop of dirt land on that tiny silver casket. “God wasn’t there.”

  “Yes, He was. He has promised to never leave us or forsake us. No matter what your eyes saw or your heart felt, He was there. Look back and tell me what you see in that room.”

  “It was just Michael and me.”

  Moving his lips close to her ear, he whispered, “The Psalmist said, ‘The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.’ He was there, Robin. No matter what it felt like, He was there.” He prayed aloud, “Father, give her eyes to see You when You seemed to be hidden. Mend her heart and bring her near to You.”

  The peace of that prayer washed over her. In all those years, not once had anyone prayed over her that way. She wiped her tear-streaked face with the back of her hands. Her voice became very soft. “I have looked back for years now, and all I see is me sitting in that rocking chair, holding my dead baby. There was no one else.”

  “God never left. He simply did not answer the way you wanted.” What question was asked any more than why God would allow a baby to die while his mother begged Him for life? He would add that to his list of questions for when he got to heaven, though he suspected, he would understand fully when he stood in God’s presence.

  “If He was there, I would have my little boy.” Contrary to what Chris believed, she knew God turned a deaf ear to her. Year after year, she relived the anguish of that day, and undeniably, she was alone. From then on she was angry, and the truth was, from that very moment she never asked God for another thing, ever. She stopped talking to Him altogether. Later on, when Mike would come home drunk and violent, she never prayed for God to help her, determining it was pointless.

  The day she held her ten-month-old baby in her arms, with no life left in him, she knew she was done with God. Why she continued to go to church, she could never fully understand, maybe because it was expected, maybe because that was just all she knew. How she felt was always her secret. During and after Michael’s funeral, when someone would try to console her with Bible verses and well-intentioned words of encouragement, she would nod while tuning them out. She despised them for trivializing her son’s death that way. Michael’s death was a zipper, not a stitch. From then on, she refused to look at a God who had the power to save and yet refused.

  Appreciating he was standing on holy ground, Chris spoke the only words he knew on the matter. “His ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts. There is no way I can explain this to you. I can’t answer for God. But I do know this, He sent me here for you. He loves you and wants you back with Him.”

  “He left me,” she spat.

  “No, He’s right here, and He wants you to see Him.”

  Unable to receive his words or believe what he said to be true, she whispered, “I don’t want to.” At that, she stood and left the cabin.

  The remainder of the day she avoided Chris. Unable to even pretend to keep busy, she told Emma she needed time alone in her cabin. Later, once it was dark, she went out to the water’s edge and stood looking at the moon reflecting off the water. Lifting her eyes to the heavens, faced with the twinkling of a million stars, she demanded, “Where were You?”

  The next morning, Chris went out early, even before the sun came up, to sit on the dock. He was not sure if Robin would be out early, or even at all. After the day before, he felt inadequate to counsel her. As much as he wanted to help her, he realized he did not have experience enough. Talking with people, getting them to open up was his gift, and he often used it to help God’s people, but in her case, more than informal counseling was needed. Surely, someone with training could reach her. As soon as he returned home, he would find additional help for her. He would pay any price. All he knew how to do was to point her back to God. Spiritually, that was what she needed, and no matter what she bel
ieved or felt, He was there with her and for her. But how could she break through the pain long enough to see Him? It was beyond him.

  The night before had been torturous for him, and the few hours he did sleep were fitful. He thought of nothing but her, and realized somewhere along the way he had fallen desperately in love with her. No matter what he felt though, his motives remained pure. They had no future together, so for her to ever know his true feelings would be pointless.

  Thinking back to their first session together, he recalled how jealous he felt by her and Mike’s love story, acknowledging he never had one of his own. Now he did, and it was too late or poor timing, whatever it might be deemed. He felt something for her he had never felt for another woman. It went beyond the desire to save her or help her overcome her past. Assessing the sum of her qualities, he loved everything about her. Her strength, even in the midst of such mind-numbing heartbreak, was something that caused him to marvel. How was she even standing? he wondered. She had a determination that was unlike that of most people, and he knew it was the Spirit within her fighting to be heard. Never once had he doubted God’s power of restoration. She would be well, and he would be but a small part of it.

  Ultimately, he determined, loving her was not pointless. It was a gift, something God gave him there in the final months of his life. He deeply regretted not having the opportunity to share a lifetime with her, but realized for him it would be the remainder of his lifetime. In his heart, he knew if given a miracle and more time, he would pursue her and do everything imaginable to make her fall in love with him. As it was, he would take the gift of love over the certainty of death. Love would be his focus and the fact that his Savior cared so much about him that He would allow him to experience it in this way. Love would be the last and greatest emotion he would know, the greatest of all things to cling to.

  Finding Chris sitting on the dock rather than the steps, Robin decided to join him. The night before, something happened that she could barely understand herself, let alone try to explain to him. While alone in bed, something came over her and made her know, not just suspect, that God indeed sent Chris to help her. And as comforting as that was, something else happened, something like the tinkling of a familiar song playing in the distance, where you can almost remember the words, but not quite. God’s presence felt almost familiar, as if she had never turned away from Him. It did not last long, but it was present long enough to stir up a yearning she did not realize existed inside her anymore.

  As she sat, she greeted him. “Hi.” Handing him his cup of coffee, she admitted, “Yesterday was tough, more than I expected.”

  “I agree.” He took a sip of the steaming liquid. Feeling inadequate, he determined to tell her. “I wish I knew how to help you more. Honestly, I am afraid I am in over my head.”

  “I disagree. The mere fact I have talked about this means something. I wouldn’t have opened up to anyone else. You have asked me some tough questions, ones I needed to ask myself.” Patting his hand, she assured him, “I wish I could explain it better, but for now, all I can say is that I feel something in me coming back to life.”

  He could hardly speak for a moment. Humbled beyond his ability to even grasp at the time, he prayed and thanked God for any progress she was experiencing. “Lord, please heal her,” he whispered in his heart. Considering again his earlier thoughts about finding another counselor, he determined it would have to be something he prayed about. Once he left the lake at the end of summer, God would lead the way. He trusted that.

  “Have you ever played ‘would you rather’?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It is a game where you get two options, and you have to choose one.”

  “I didn’t know it was an official game, but I suppose I have.”

  “I was thinking about what I should cling to, and it brought me to a question for you. This is something serious. Are you in the mood for that?”

  “Maybe.” She was not at all sure, as her feelings were still so raw, but for once, she understood how much bringing the past out into the light helped. In the weeks she had been talking to Chris, she felt so much less burdened than before.

  He looked at her sympathetically, asking, “Would you rather have ten months with the pain of losing him, or to have not known Michael at all?”

  Shocked by his question, she drew in a sharp breath, and without hesitating, whispered, “Ten months with the pain of losing him.”

  “I have a new way to frame this for you. I’m not sure it will help, but I will try it.” He turned to where he was facing her. “Stop holding on to his death. That is your entire focus – that day, that moment. Instead, hold on to the love you have for him. Hold on to his life.” He felt a bit uncertain, but continued anyway, “I didn’t even know about him until weeks after I met you. I should have known. Somewhere between moving home and the joy of your new house you could have told me, but you intentionally left it out. You are so busy trying to somehow comprehend the uncomprehendable, wondering why God did not save him, that you have stopped remembering him or his life.

  “This may be an odd comparison, but the Lord brought it to my mind last night. So I feel it is worth sharing. If you consider Job, he lost all his children, plus everything else, but I imagine the loss of his children was his truest grief. If you were to ask him now if the sorrows of this world pale in comparison to eternity, you know his answer would be yes. If you asked him if the millions of people over the years who have benefited by the story of his loss of so much and his refusal to curse God and die were worth all he suffered, he would say yes.

  “Now I am not trying to compare you with Job, rather Job with Michael. If you were to ask Michael now if his limited time here on earth was worth the mighty works God would do in his mother and father, he would tell you yes. Robin – with his current, eternal perspective, he would tell you yes.”

  Holding his hand up before she could speak, he added, “I am not saying God caused Michael’s death. The simple fact is that we live in a fallen world. There was some genetic abnormality in his little body that caused him to stop breathing while he slept. God was not the cause, but the effect was that He would use the tragedy and pain of it to show Himself to you. Even then, you didn’t know Him. If you had, you would have turned to Him for comfort. When you know Him, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt and beyond what your circumstances tell you that He is your only place to run. Only He has the arms that can heal such a broken spirit. But you turned away, testifying that you never knew Him at all.”

  She sat silently. The things he said turned over and over in her head. He was right, she never knew God before. She knew some facts. She believed Jesus was God. She believed He saved. But she never knew Him, and she still did not. Finally though, she was willing. If that was truly the place of healing, she wanted to go there, to get to know Him.

  “Say something. Have I hurt you?” Her face held no expression. He could not even imagine what she might be thinking, but winced with regret that he may have hurt her feelings, or even worse, broken her heart.

  Stammering, she admitted, “Again, you are right. I don’t want to keep holding on to his death. Tell me then, how can I cling to that love?” She held one hand out to him and tapped it with her finger. “Put something in my hand that helps me do that. I need something, an action to help me get started.”

  Finding such pain and uncertainty in her eyes, there was no moment before when he wanted to hold her any more than at that moment. If there were any way humanly possible for him to lessen her pain, he would do it. He was helpless though and knew nothing he could ever do would make a great deal of difference. In all his life, his adult life anyway, he had never experienced a moment where he felt as powerless to help someone who so desperately needed it.

  “Go talk to Emma. Tell her all the funny, sweet, and silly things you can think of about Michael. Describe his laugh and his personality. Remember his life. Thank God for every day of those ten months. And then thank Him
for the things He will do in and through you because of knowing Michael. After that, each and every day, find a way to hold on to his life, if only on the inside.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Sure you can.” Looking into her eyes, he saw the glimmer of what she must have been talking about earlier. There was a spark of life in them he had yet to see before. God was awakening her spirit, and it was the most amazing sight he had ever seen, let alone been a part of. Something about that moment assured him that she would live again.

  Later in the afternoon, after lunch, Robin found Emma in the kitchen cleaning. It was where she spent most of her time. Having remodeled the room two years before, it had become her resting place. That seemed odd with the flurry of work that went on there, but for Emma, it was her place. She said the warmth of the pale yellow cabinets made her feel as if she were standing in the sunshine.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “For you, all the time in the world.”

  Robin poured them each a cup of coffee. “I would like to tell you about Michael.”

  Dropping a cookie sheet into the large white sink, Emma moved to a stool and sat. Stunned, she stammered, “I would love to hear anything you want to share.” She had only seen the baby twice. Holding her grandchild was like a sweet, undeserved gift, but a painful one. Looking so much like Robin as a baby, he was a reminder of what she had given up.

  Robin began and went on for more than an hour. She tried to recount every memory she had of him, and it was the sweetest therapy for her wounded soul. From his smile and giggles to his temper when he was hungry, she shared all she could remember. It was, in a sense, like pouring cool water on a burned hand. It hurt, yet soothed at the same time.

  Afterward, Robin experienced something akin to laying down a heavy load. It was more than emotional relief, it was physical as well. Suddenly, she felt less alone. For years, she had kept Michael hidden in her heart, but this day, it was as if he filled the air around her. Having pondered how this particular therapy could be so effective, she determined that love is sweetest when expressed, and that was what she had done that day. She expressed her love for Michael, something she would continue to do from that point forward.