I went out for a walk last night with four of my six children. I shouldn’t say we walked exactly. We walked as a group, sort of like an amoeba with Rosie in the center since she wanted to walk with us. At 21 months she wants to walk by herself, everywhere, all the time, without any help. She walks very fast (and she walked for over two miles!) so she is getting a good work out, but the rest of us are just sort of walking at a leisurely pace to be at her speed. Rosie also wants to climb every set of stairs she sees, pick flowers along the way, pet stray dogs, and dart in front of moving cars. If it is possible for her to be cute, funny, lovable and annoying all at the same time, she is.
Once we got home I got everyone settled and sat down to read my e-mails and there was an URGENT prayer request. That’s how I found out that Frankie had died. My heart started pounding and I had to read it three times to make sure I had read it correctly. What many of us had been expecting for over two years finally happened, but it was nonetheless hard to take. As one mom put it, she was the little miracle that we expected to be God’s witness. She was going to validate the power of our prayers and the strength of our convictions. But this wasn’t the outcome we were praying for.
Over the years I have read blogs and message boards of moms who ended pregnancies when their babies had some sort of congenital condition or situation that was going to prove to be fatal. The rationalization was something along the lines of they didn’t want their babies to suffer, and they didn’t want to suffer either. And that’s perfectly understandable. No one wants to suffer. Even Jesus asked to have the bitter cup of suffering pass Him by. But is there no purpose or value to suffering?
Frankie and her family suffered greatly. There are scars there that are undoubtedly permanent. And yet I wonder if the scars are so deep precisely because the price paid for them was so valuable. The gift of this small child, her smile, her humor, her baby ways and her unconditional love for her entire family was priceless even in its brevity. Grief may bring sleepless nights and sadness which the salve of time will gently soothe. What heals the regrets of not doing enough or not trying at all? This family can truly say that the trusted the Lord, they did their best.
Someone said it would have been better if Frankie had died before birth or as an infant. I wonder about that. I lost a baby before he was born. The trade off of not being heartbroken two or three years down the line is that I never knew who that little person was, what his smile would have been like, his personality, all the little things that make a baby a little person right from the beginning. There are deep regrets and longings there too. Is one heartbreak better or easier than another? It’s hard to say. There are heavy costs with each of them.
It’s too soon to know all of the gifts that will come from this extraordinary journey that was Frankie’s short life. I have no doubt that they will be there but once more those things too are usually revealed over time. I know I was moved by Jean’s deep faith and strength even during the darkest hours of her daughter’s illness. What a powerful example she set. A high standard for others like me to tap into during some of the more mundane little sufferings in our day-to-day lives. Maybe this journey was part of a process that one of the other children will need to have for meeting some future challenge. Time will tell.
I picked up my little weary walker, who was still struggling to be independent with her dirty face and sticky hands, who did not want her mama to hold her but wanted to “go!” I gave her a hug anyway and she let me. That hug was for Frankie too.
In the meantime, we have a new intercessor in heaven
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