Am I next?

I shared yesterday about the tragic events of the death of a nephew of mine. I still haven't totally come to grips with the situation, but today I had the chance to visit with the boys mother. His father is deployed and won't be back in town for another day. I have been around people who have lost children. And it is never the same. You would think you would get used to it, but you don't. There are multiple levels of grieving going on. I am grieving because of the loss of a baby that I know. But I am also grieving for his parents. In fact, I grieve more for them. For their broken hearts. Hearing the cries of a parent that has lost a child is something that stays with you forever. The total despair. The anguished cry of a mother is something that shakes you to your bone. Especially if it's someone you care about.

At times like that, you are at a loss for words. You know you can say something, but it's really not registering to the person that you are intending them for. So I've found that it's best just to be quiet. I am reminded of the Psalmists words': Be still and know that I am God. Just to sit there with them quietly. I don't subscribe to the belief that we should hold it in. I know it's a Samoan custom to be strong. To hold it in. But I believe that grieving is a natural process that has to be played out. And everyone grieves at their own pace. Their own style. Some people take comfort in work. They go right back to work to take their minds off of the loss and to get back to a routine. Others take days, weeks off. They can't leave the house. Or they can't return to the house, if the loved one died at home. We shouldn't dictate how people grieve. I know that if we have children and others looking to us for leadership that we should be strong for them. But we must also be allowed to grieve.

I have two natural born brothers and Faga, our adopted brother. My family took him in and he is like a son to my parents. All three of my brothers have now lost children at very young ages, before they turned three. And all of them died accidental deaths. I often think these deaths are harder in a sense to comprehend because there's a lot of blame and finger pointing that goes on. The danger is when people start to play the what if game. What if I had gotten off earlier? What if I had stayed home that day? What if...what if...what if? At my niece's funeral three years ago, my brother who was the first to lose a child gave the eulogy on behalf of my family. He said that having lost two grandchildren, some might say that my family is cursed somehow. But he said that he believed that my family was blessed. Blessed because God tests those that He intends to use for His greater purposes. And that people that are tested often become stronger in the long run. Last night, I said to Go..."no more tests please. No more."

I have always considered myself a mature Christian who's faith is strong and has been tested by fire. But the creeping feeling that came over me was...Am I next? Will I suffer the same fate as my brothers? Are we really cursed? I felt guilty for having those thoughts because it showed a lack of faith. Perhaps it's just my way of grieving. But I know that those are fading doubts. And I believe with every fiber of my body that everything that happens to us happens for a reason. That our time on this earth is temporary and that the Lord has already prepared a place for us to come to at a time of His choosing. I know that. But it still hurts. It still aches.