I Hate Dinner

The hardest thing I have ever done was chose a casket for my baby boy.

The emptiest I have ever felt was holding my infant son in my arms and singing to him as he grew stiff and cold.

The most heartbroken I have ever been was physically laying my child in the ground and watching strangers throw dirt over him.

The saddest I have ever been is hearing my wife cry quietly in another room.

And still, God says He's with us. That we have hope in a perfect future, in a brighter place, where we will experience perfect joy and happiness and fellowship. That my little boy will greet me at the gates, yelling "Daddy!" and run into my arms. It better. It must be. I cannot conceive of going through this without a hope in something else, something after this world, this life.

I felt him. I saw him. I love him. I never got to hold him. I held his shell, his physical form, but I never met my son, Levi. And I won't this side of heaven.

My life now is strange juxtaposition of the normal and the tragic. My baby boy is dead and buried. My heart and soul lie with him, and I'm barely functional. Aidan is excited because Daddy didn't go to work today and he wants to play. The kitchen needed to be cleaned and there are bills to pay and errands to run. One minute is perfectly normal, could be any other day.

Except my son is dead. And a cold hand clutches at my chest and squeezes my heart. My stomach clenches and my eyes burn with angry choking tears.

We sat down for dinner the other day, Sunday I think, and I started eating. Just dove right in. Amy asked me innocently, "Aren't you going to pray?" "I've been debating it" was my answer. My normal prayer goes something like this, "Dear Lord, thank you for today. Thank you for my family and friends. Bless us and keep us safe. Amen" That works under normal circumstances, but the prayer I wanted to pray was, "God, I hate you for allowing this to happen. For not protecting us. For allowing Levi to die. Amen".

This is what I prayed instead:"God, I don't understand. I don't know how this can happen, but I believe you are good and loving. You have to be. Don't let me down. I can't bear this. Give me strength." It's the one I'm still praying.