When the silence falls, I can hear the echo of the groaning heartache of a mother that is grieving her child… There is no other sound like it. Have you ever heard it? Are you a mother or father who knows exactly what I am talking about? All too well, I know this sound.
I know this sound comes out of a place so deep within our hearts that there is nothing else that can take us there except for a mother’s cry, a mother’s plead with God, a mother’s brokenness. It’s all captured within the groaning of her heart.
When the silence comes, a mother’s heart holds within it the cry and agony for her child. And in these moments, there is nothing that can stop it. The freight train has left the building headed for complete derailment. One moment can catapult you into this. One memory. One.
It doesn’t matter the time, the place, or how many days or years have passed… it lies deep within your heart and in the silence is unleashed.
As the tears hit the floor, there is an unstoppable grief that can no longer be held in. I might best describe it, visually, like watching a car crash. You know the feeling something is fixing to happen, you hear the panic within, you scream and hear the brakes trying to stop the centrifugal forces that collide with the merging traffic. The tires locking up send you into a place you never wanted to go and then it happens. Silence. Dead Silence.
I have often tried to fight the silence from falling, BUT I have learned that responding to the silence and releasing this emotion is necessary to grieve for my baby boy. Why would I think it should be any other way? Why would I not want to allow my tears to flow at the onset of thinking of Matthew?
Sometimes, the answer is because I want to be strong for my family and for others, or because I don’t want them to see me hurting. But the reality is I do hurt, I do grieve, and when I am ‘quiet’ long enough in the silence, I can feel it. I feel my heart bubbling over with my mama groan, my plea, my heartache, that in the busyness of life may get tossed to the side while I do the laundry, wash dishes or drive from one ball game to another event. But eventually, the silence falls. We cannot out-run it for long.
I cry out to God, and sometimes my fist will even make contact with the granite counter top… why? Because it hurts. Because I will always long for Matthew to be with me.
In the very unnatural circumstances of burying your child, these gut wrenching groans from a mama’s heart are natural. Grieving (missing) your child is not a sign of weakness, but rather a sign of love.