Baby Dedication

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How do you measure grief?  The answer, of course, is that you don't.

But in some misguided attempt to shield myself from pain, I occasionally find myself trying.  How much would I hurt if I lost this love? How could I continue on if this were taken from me?

Part of this, I know, comes from a deep-seated hatred of possibly-permanent good-byes. I won't attempt to describe the far too frequent times I've ducked out of sight instead of formulating the final words, the "have a nice life" sort of moments.

And I know, too, that some of this stems from a twisted view of the Divine. A fatalistic certainty bids me not care too deeply for anything or anyone, for certainly that will be what God will take.

Whatever the root, the outgrowth is a slowness to love; fear is a choking, crippling tyrant.

The first few months I put my baby in bed, I'd think about all of the threats that might prevent me from having him with me in the morning, and I would try to convince myself that even if SIDS stalked my house while I slept, I wouldn't be ruined by grief... only wounded. And by reasoning that my life and breath weren't intimately dependent on his life and breath, I could sleep.

But love is not about self-preservation.  And death, whether expected of the aged or unexpected of the unborn, has a way of making you wish that you had it in you to have given more... to be capable of feeling the wound more than is humanly possible.

I'm not going to add anything profound to voices of philosophers and psychologists on this, but only my thoughts as this pertains to baby dedication. This isn't the baby dedication of protestant churches where parents commit to raise their child as is pleasing to God, and friends and family promise to support them in their efforts. This is the baby dedication of every goodbye, whether it be for a few hours or the slow weaning of letting go as my baby learns independence. It is an acceptance that God does not owe me an allotted number of days with my baby. My baby is His and He has blessed me with the days leading up to today but maybe not tomorrow.

I cannot cling, only cherish. I cannot agonize, only recognize moment by moment that my baby is God's far more than he will ever be mine.


Comments

Vicki Carroll said…
I love you, Biuks. <3
10:09 PM
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