After my water broke during labor with her oldest sister, terror struck me as labor pains began to crush me without sight of relief. I had no choice but to go through the pain.

I again feel the space that lies between a rock and a hard place. This is a crushing, pressing in, and squeezing out every drop of salty sorrow.  

Door after door opened only to face a worse diagnosis until finally the door of her death opened to this black tunnel and the coldness of grief greeted me. Behind me the door shut with loud echoing finality.  I couldn’t see anything – and though my eyes have begun to adjust to this darkness it remains inky black. Where is the exit? Each day greets me with the answer “There is none.”

The difference between the labor pains of birth and these labor pains of grief are stark and yet they are so eerily similar. Blinded and scared I take agonizing step after agonizing step. I’m weighed down not by the 6lbs 14oz of her presence but of her absence.  I am no longer walking by sight but by faith.

At the end of this tunnel will Gemma greet me? Will He reveal goodness to me in the land of the living? Have goodness and mercy followed me through the doors and into this dark place? It often does not feel true anymore.

Each morning I roll over to the bitter sight of her bassinet returned to the garage. My leaded feet hit the floor. I see only in part now. I am forced to trust that at the end of this terrible dark tunnel, my Redeemer will turn my faith to sight.