V. Freedom—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls.” Grief of a child explored

“The gates of heaven are left standing open, in case children need to wander in …”
--Sir James Matthew Barrie

A Letter from God

“I’ll lend you for a little time, a child of Mine,” He said. “For you to love him while he lives and mourn for, when he’s dead. It may be 6-7 years or twenty-two or three. But will you, ‘til I call him back, take care of him for Me?”

He’ll bring his charms to gladden you and should his stay be brief. You’ll have his lovely memories as solace for your grief. I cannot promise he will stay, since all from earth return. But there are lessons taught down there, I want this child to learn.

I’ve looked this wide world over, in search of teachers true. And from the pairs that crowd life’s lane, I decided upon you. Now, will you give him all your love, not thinking it’s in vain? Or will you hate me when I come to call, and take him home again? Now, might I hear your fiat-words: O God, thy will be done?

For all the joy this child will bring, the risk of grief will come. You’ll shelter him with tenderness and love him while you may. And for the happiness he brings, forever grateful stay? And should the angels call for him, much sooner than you’ve planned; please brave the bitter grief that comes and try to understand.”                                                                                                               —Unknown Author

Shattered Silence

Losing a child is a wound that Mother Mary’s 7-pierced heart shares. She shows us how grief is not weakness but the price of love. It is human, holy and necessary. Weeping and showing sorrow are not faithlessness but compassion incarnate. When Lazarus died, Jesus’ heart was broken. Why, since Lazarus would be alive soon? One theory is, Jesus wept for the weight of all human deaths, in that one moment.

A simple child that lightly draws its breath. And feels life in every limb.
What should they know of death?
--William Wordsworth

Raw Realities

Like an amputation, parents experience their identities ripped out, because a piece of them has died. Grief begins with anguish, shock, uncontrollable sobbing, inability to function and withdrawal. This rawness is mourning’s first stage: disbelief and devastation.

“We have widows, widowers and orphans. But there are no words for the parents who lose a child.
That is how awful the loss is…”
--Joy Neugeboren in, An Orphan’s Tale

As the Sorrow Surges

As grief deepens, oceanlike waves of sorrow crash upon the shores of our soul. St. Jane Frances de Chantal struggled with unanswered prayers for her husband’s life, teaching us that anger and lament can coexist with faith. The Catechism affirms that death is a passage, not an end (CCC 1013), yet the passage feels unbearable when it is our child who we bury first. Over time, grief invites surrender. This surrender does not erase pain but reframes it as trust in divine providence. Our memories remain proof of their existence. No one can take them from us. To live in our hearts—is not to die.

“This dear child was more God’s than yours. They had only been on loan…
If His Providence judged it was time to withdraw, we must believe it was for the child’s good.
--St. Francis de Sales’ letter to a grieving father

From Horror to Healing

St. Paul urged believers not to grieve “as others do, who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). The Communion of Saints assures us that our children remain alive in Christ, interceding for us even as we pray for them. Families who mourn together often close ranks, discover new tenderness, share each other’s burdens as over time, grace reshapes sorrow. For their souls are in eternity, where everything is just beginning. For us, we have to make the best of grief. Or perhaps the point, is to let it to make the best of us. Our children have already accepted, what we now reject.

I can’t say when the turning point came, but it comes when we allow it.
I remember you lying on the couch reading and eating green apples—the kind that crunch with each munch.
For years, I couldn’t start a book without going your same ritual.
When I visited your grave, others left pebbles to mark their coming. I left you a hard green apple.
--Renee Rodin in Bread & Salt

Parents Prayer (meter 8888)

O Lord, You saw our child depart and tore in two, the parents’ heart.
The silent screams come all night long; You ask we cling to Heaven’s song.
The cross we carry feels too vast, the stories echo’ng from the past.
Yet in Your wounds our tears seek rest, for grief is holy, grief is blessed.
You gave, You took, yet still You stay and walk us through our shattered day.

Though death has claimed our child from sight, Your promise holds—each tomb has light.
O saints who suffered loss and pains, teach us trust in grief’s dark chains.
Christ did come, our souls to save; so love endures beyond the grave.
So empty us of “us,” O Lord, & give us only Thee.
Make horror leave and tears begone, while You crown our child to angels’ songs.

* * *

Click on link below for next chapter. Some may not be posted yet.

I. Ghosts—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls.“ Family grief explored

II. Humor—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls.” Brotherly grief explored

III. Courage—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls.” In-Law grief explored

IV. Strength—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls.” Paternal grief explored

V. Freedom—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls.” Grief of a child explored

VI. Goodbye Ghosts—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls.”