The Worst Feeling Ever

I first met Hannah at the Post Residency Program introduction.  She straight up refused to take a nap and kept her poor mom away from the program events.  Hannah was only a couple of months younger than our daughter and I was feeling confident in my mommy shoes so I went to see if I could pitch in and take over some of the walking, rocking and shoosing that she’d kept her mom doing for the last hour or so.  While Hannah and I walked we had a chat and I told her she really shouldn’t treat her mommy that way and should be nicer to her, because she only wanted her to take a nap.  Hannah smiled a sleepy smile up at me, as if to say, she knew she shouldn’t treat her mom that way, but she just couldn’t resist the extra cuddle time being fussy afforded.  I smiled back at her and we shared a moment she and I, not to mention an awesome name.  She eventually drifted off to sleep and napped her way through the afternoon, leaving her mom and dad free to be at the rest of the conference.  I liked Hannah and we liked her mom and dad too, they were fun, easy to be around and seemed to have perpetual smiles.

Hannah, her three older brothers and her mom and dad, packed up their lives in America and moved overseas to work in international healthcare.  The same as us!  Except that, unbeknownst to anyone, Hannah had a brain tumor and left this earth Wednesday night.

I am so so very sad.  I’m heartbroken for the family of perpetual smiles, who are being so very brave and strong and faithful.  And I am frustrated at the unfairness, and angry at the injustice, which unfortunately is too often my go-to emotion for pretty much everything.

When I was in highschool a friend of mine was killed in a car accident.  I had never known anyone to die so young and I cried for days.   I shut myself in my room and listen to mournful celtic laments.  It was the worst feeling ever.  But now I am older, and I’m someone’s mom and I’ve never known a child that has died.  I’ve never held a baby who has died and I can’t stop crying and listening to sorrowful Nepali flute music.  This truly has got to be the worst feeling ever.

It seems to me that older that I get, the darker, and more unjust the world becomes.  I find out more and more what a horrible and unfair place this is and I’m shocked each and every time that there is a new ‘the worst thing ever’.  The older I get, the worse this place gets, and the more beautiful “being sure of what we hope for and certain of things unseen,”(Heb 11:1) becomes.  I know Hannah’s parents believe that one day we will see and hold that precious girl again.  I don’t mean that as a trite or insincere thought.  As if it doesn’t hurt that she is gone or that her mom and dad won’t daily feel the pain of her loss.  I mean that this is the exact place where we do have pain and should feel and express our hurt.  Crying is a good thing my therapist once told me.  This dark world is where it makes the most sense to feel all the hurt and the pain and the unfair.  But when we are done with the dark world and our crying and pain, there is a place where there won’t be a next ‘the worst thing’.  I don’t know all the details, or how the whole thing works out, but right now I’m guessing it is going to be one of the best feelings ever.

6 thoughts on “The Worst Feeling Ever

  1. Oh, Hannah, I thought of you when I heard the news and guessed that you probably knew at least of each other. I know that God has a plan in all of this pain I couldn’t imagine. I’m so thankful for the hope we have in Him and that, someday, there will be no more worst thing evers. Hugs to you, my friend!

  2. Thank you for your sweet story of meeting Baby Hannah. I did not, but did meet her sweet, and, yes, perpetually smiling, parents in October at the Prescription for Renewal Conference. We are going with PRP in August with our 4 and 5 year olds, and my heart aches for Kelleys. I, also, have found myself crying with frequency as I think of and pray for them. I am certain I would not be handling the situation with such grace, peace, and faith.

  3. Tears came when I read of your friends’ loss. I will remeber them (& you) before the Lord. I’ve often thot the loss of a child is one of the worst things one can experience on this earth. Without Christ and our hope of the future, how could we go on?

  4. When I hear about tragedies like this, I like to think of it this way: God was so in love with his creation of little Hannah that He couldn’t stand being away from her for a second longer. So He decided to spare her from all the hurts of this world and bring her to Him so that He could hold her close in His arms until it’s her parents’ turn to join them.

  5. I am fighting back tears as I finish reading your and Dave’s latest posts. I have known a lot of children who have died, but I am a mother now and that changes things a lot. Plus being in a place with fewer medical resources makes me feel even more vulnerable. But as Dave’s post reminded me, God is the one in control and he is the Great Physician. He gives and takes away. I can’t imagine how heavy your heart is, actually knowing this little girl and her family. My thoughts and prayers will be with you and especially with this grieving family in Kenya.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s