It’s been a mos since the death of my baby boy. Sometimes it is still so hard to believe. I have a baby buried in a cemetery… I honestly never thought that would happen. It is true that on the one hand, time does seem to help and even heal. I don’t ache every day like I use to. I don’t even cry every day like I did at one point. But there are still times when the pain and heartache overtake me and just surprise me with how much it hurts. In those moments I realize the hole is still very much there, and probably always will be till I enter eternity.

But I have been able to look back finally and see some things I didn’t see before. Those first couple weeks after Shiloh died were some of the hardest days I have ever known. And honestly, God didn’t seem that close. I would pray and cry out to God with a broken heart just to feel as if the heavens were closed and God wasn’t listening. Did He hide His face? Did He no longer care about me? What was going on? The Bible says that God is near to the broken hearted but I didn’t feel like God was all that near to me. If anything, I felt like He had hidden His face bc I couldn’t see Him at all.

What do you do when God hides His face at the moment you need Him the most?

You keep looking – bc I’m learning that when God hides His face, it’s hidden right in front of your eyes and His hand is right there carrying you the whole time.

I couldn’t see God’s face those first couple weeks when I was going through everything, but looking back now, I see God’s hand all over my days; carrying me, holding me, and orchestrating details with a finesse.

My mom was actually at the appt with me when we learned the baby had died. Crazy story, only appt she went to, but that meant I didn’t cry alone.

I knew and trusted the nurses we had. I could cry and ache and ask questions without fear or concern. They were such a blessing during that time.

Shiloh was born at the right time so all the grandparents and his siblings could see him. He didn’t come in the middle of the night. He didn’t die after grandma V left on a trip…

I cannot begin to recount the number of times I have been aching and crying just to receive a text, an email, a card in the mail reminding me that someone was praying for us.

On the day we buried Shiloh I had written in my journal “God, I know You will be crying with us today but I just won’t see it.” I wrote that as the sun was shining and there was no rain in the forecast. Soon the sky clouded over and as we drove to the cemetery it began to drizzle. It actually stopped for Shiloh’s service (can’t ruin our hair! – God is so good to us women), but the moment we got back in the cars it began to really rain. Tears from heaven bc my God understands the broken heart of a mother.

My baby boy has a blankie. Not a huge deal I know but it matters to me. The other 3 children have knitted blankets (blankets with holes so they can’t suffocate when they shove their faces into them at night). My oldest, Rina, was given one and I loved it so much I have asked for another knitted blanket each time we have a child. At the hospital they handed us Shiloh wrapped in a little knitted blanket and when we left we were able to take that home with us. It isn’t big, the perfect size for the little boy he was. But my son has his own knitted blanket just like his siblings. And it’s even in my favorite color – green.

The hand of my God – so obvious now but so hard to see at the time. He is a good God.