Jamie was talking to a friend at church who had read my post last week on moving on with life after Kaylee. She said to Jamie, “Maybe this is the closest we’ll ever get to hell.”
A month ago I was talking to a friend of mine who lost his son at 28 weeks. He has also lost his father and since I’ve never gone through the loss of anyone in my immediate family, I asked him which loss was harder. He simply responded, “I’ve never gone through anything as difficult as losing my child.”
Sunday morning was good. We got to church 10 minutes early with plenty of time to drop our kids off at the nursery and find a seat. The songs were good, the message was good, the songs at the end were good. Things were good!
Then I lost it. I don’t remember why or even the song we were singing. I do remember being suddenly very conscious that my daughter was not in my arms. She was born but she’s not here. I broke down crying. I’m not much for crying, especially in public. It felt even more awkward given that I was sitting in the front of the church.
But you don’t choose the moments this hell knocks you down. You think after your first day without crying that just maybe it’ll be smooth sailing from here. Then 5 days later you run into the toughest day you’ve had and you can’t even put your finger on why the day was tough.
Death is as close as we’ll get to hell on earth. Experiencing the death of someone close to us is a small taste of that hell. I don’t wish hell on my worst enemy.