Still Mad with God

 Because the feelings are so nuanced, often my anger at God over the death of my Daughter surprises me, catches me off guard. I'm totally unprepared for the rush of emotions that threatens to drown me and sabotage whatever activity I was in the midst of. Just as critically,  I'm the product of parents who didn't dare question God His decisions.  "Thou will be done," period. I've read too many Old Testament declarations that remind me His ways are not my ways; His thoughts are not my thoughts.  However, my Daughter's transition triggers the memory of my Grandson's demise some twenty years earlier. Oh, the shock of it! We had put him in bed at 8:30 Saturday night after reading his favorite bedtime story, "It Isn't Easy Being a Bunny." His crib faced east.  He had his pacifier,  pillow, and enough muted light to ease him into sweet dreams.  He knew when he heard, "Sweet dreams," sleep was imminent. 

When I woke early Sunday morning so I could run to the grocery store for cereal and milk, I never thought to look in on him.  I had begun the  Sunday ritual of bathing, breakfast, and  dressing before  the ride to Church.  The trip to the store didn't take long, and morning traffic was light, still I wondered why neighbors had congregated outside my unit.  "I've told them," I thought, referring to my daughters,"Not to leave the Baby alone.  In a flash, though, something  unnerved me.  The crowd  milled around, as if waiting on something or someone. 

I parked quickly, trying to spot my daughters. Concerned that something was off-kilter, I scanned the group for my daughters.  By now, my heart was racing.  Something definitely was not alright! As I jumped out of the car, barely shutting off the engine, a neighbor said, "Oh, I'm so  sorry but your daughters just discovered the Baby in his crib, dead!"  Time stood still. Although my feelings were visceral, I can't put words together that would describe shock and denial and fear that paralyzed me.  "The cops are on the way," she concluded.  Why? Why the police and not the paramedics," I wondered. It turned out that both had been summoned.

His death devastated all of us.  His had been the only baby born in our family at least in a decade.  Bureaucratic questions had to be answered; paper work consumed the rest of the day, which flew by in a flurry of "Whys" intermixed with hysterics and stiff upper lips.  Thankfully, the mind dons its protective gear and  shielded us.  My Mother, the matriarch of the family, and her prayers became the adhesive that held us together. Today, I seesaw between the pain of my Daughter's death and the pangs of remembrances that remind me of the grievous loss of my first Grandchild.  Sometimes it takes a while to remember which loss I'm feeling.  Maybe both. 

Truthfully, I'm still mad at God. I'd be lying if I were to pretend otherwise. My Grand Baby's death shut me down, emotionally, spiritually, and physically.  With each passing day, questions about death and dying overwhelmed me.  A voracious reader, I haunted libraries, new and, used book stores, the Net,  seeking definitive answers about the cessation of life.  For months, I couldn't go to Church and stay throughout a Service because the memories of him in the Pulpit (yes, the pulpit at 22 months), or  in Pastor's church office were reminders too strong to ignore. I never realize that I had given up on everything. Yet,  I kept some semblance of saneness because I knew I had to be there for my daughters.  

My daughters and I did not talk about anything.  We played an elaborate game of "Let's Pretend," instead. Now, I wonder why I didn’t see or feel anything.  Is that why things---eyesight, vision, heart-sight, hearing--- have seemed so out-of-kilter,, so awkward? Is that where the physical pain, not to mention the emotional trauma, germinated? Was I that invested in not“going there”? Where? Those too-feared-to-be-investigated places-because-they scare-me “there”? For months I was too afraid to question, wonder, or speculate. Afraid of questioning God because I had been reared by Depression -era parents who didn't dare question God! My manager, a pediatrician, offered to read and explain the autopsy report but I was too afraid to know. What would I have done with the knowledge?

From the vantage point of two decades and plenty of experience, I understand now that I never completed the traditional phases or movements of grief---shock, anger, denial bargaining and depression, leading to acceptance--- I hadn't been introduced to the roller coaster of grief., had never understood even intellectually, so I was one confused child, trying to help my still-younger children. I doubt if we ever fully grasped much about living and dying. Not even now.