My daughter’s friend just lost her 20-week old infant son. Complications prevented Kahlo from being born a full-term baby…her pregnancy was cut short at just 20 weeks in utero after desperately trying to save the baby through a series of medical procedures. Kahlo died.
He already had a name. He already had a family. He had a Mom who couldn’t wait to meet him and whose arms now ache because she will never swing him in her arms or sing him a lullaby.
Her heart is broken. And so are our hearts, for her.
There are no words that can soothe this pain. There is no human reasoning that can explain away the horrendous abyss that Kahlo’s Mom is feeling.
For now, all we can do is cry with her. And for her. We can pray for strength and hug each other a bit tighter. We can remember to make time. To take time. That life is much more than a race to go faster. It is a masterpiece to savor. Each and every day.
This is one of life’s greatest mysteries…the meaning of sorrow. Why did Kahlo not get to make his way into the world. Was it to prevent him from having pain, or allowing evil to permeate his little life? Was it a lesson for the rest of us…a lesson in compassion and heartache and gratitude. A reminder of the things we take for granted a daily basis.
What is the meaning of sorrow? Why does so much of it exist? Lord, what are we to learn from this heart-wrenching death?
Kahlo’s in Heaven wrapped in the safety of Jesus’ arms. Lord, wrap his Mommy in yours too.