It has been all week.

Ever since I arrived at work on Monday and was informed that one of the ex -colleague in the college delivered a daughter who was stillborn early that morning. All week, I have felt the impact of a loss. My soul is aching.

Where can we find comfort? A baby born still leaves the family with no memories other than those tinged with grief. The fragments of dreams and unfulfilled hopes are strewn about, and we try to comprehend the reality of a life with such overwhelming sadness.
 
How angry we are at a God who would allow such tragedy! What meaning can possibly be found in the death of one who has yet to take a single breath??

Job wrote, “A life blossoms like a flower and withers, it vanishes like a shadow and does not endure…The length of our days are set; the number of our months are with you. You set limits that we cannot pass.” (Job 14:2, 5)

When a child is born still, that flower never blossoms. The mother and father arrive expectantly at the hospital, but return home with empty arms and a grieving heart.  I am empty of prayer. That space is filled instead with tears. With shadows. We cannot yet form the words to praise Your Name, O God. So accept our tears instead.

My heart is breaking. When I am faced with a crisis, I respond by buying books. Getting my hands on anything that will give me an explanation. Some understanding. Guidance. Anything. I slip into my child’s room at night. Poppy seed, the lightest of sleepers, rouses and blinks in the dark as if to say, “Amma, what are you doing here." "I just wanted to be sure of you," I whisper. I hug him tightly, thanking God for having him each day.

What could I possibly say or does that will bring consolation? What to do to fill the emptiness? What can we do as communities do to acknowledge the loss of one who never knew the breath of life that comes from God? How can we provide comfort to the broken-hearted?
 
Ultimately, it is our presence and acknowledgement of the child that can bring some amount of strength to the mourners. God full of compassion, place these tiniest of beginnings, these slight and small beginnings, these tiny and tender roots, lacking form and countenance, but still desired and loved, among the holy and pure ones who shine brilliantly as the heavens.