More than three months have passed since our Lizzie was ripped from our arms. It’s hard to describe, even to myself how I can illustrate what our lives are like now. No words can do it justice.

The enormity of the tragedy we have gone through still has the power to render us speechless, with utter disbelief at what we no longer have. It’s shocking, at times very raw, feeling the great injustice that we have to live with. We have no children, we have lost our precious Lizzie.

At the same time, I must admit that our lives are not constantly in this darkness I’ve just described. Let me enlighten you as to the reality of our lives of grief.

I still wake up, get ready and go to work. I would like to think I am functioning quite well, most days, as a normal human being. Most days, I can work efficiently, without distraction. I can attend meetings, complete projects, have lunch with colleagues, go to conferences, meet up with friends, lead bible study, even exercise. If you were a total stranger and had met me for the first time you would be hard pressed to have ever thought that three months ago I had gone through the most tragic experience of my life.

Grief has stopped us in our tracks for awhile. Functionally we know that life does continue. But it is still hard.

Even as I have good days, I have some hard days too. There are days when the company of people is just too overwhelming for me. There are days when one little annoying thing can consume me so much that I just can’t be around that person or group of people. There are days when I miss her so much that being around people who seem to have forgotten her just hurts too much. And I suspect that there will be many days like this to come, even though I am largely functioning in everyday existence.

You see grief isn’t something you just “get over”. I had always though it was, with my lack of empathy, even though I had experienced some grief with our previous pregnancies.

Grief is our life’s burden to bear. It’s the backpack that has been glued to our backs, that we can’t take off. At first the burden was great and unbearable. The bag was heavy with pain, hurt, and despair. But as life continues, the burden does get lighter, ever so slightly. But it’s always there. we are conscious of it, as the straps sit uncomfortably on our shoulders. And no matter how ever many children we may have in the future, or other happier things we will experience, we call this grief our constant companion. The sharp pangs and reminders of what we have lost; they never leave us. We just learn to live with it.

As Christians, we often like to make sense of why bad things happen. Why did this happen to US. We like answers. We like to package things into neat compartments in our minds.

“This happened so that you can persevere”.

“This happened so that your faith will be stronger”.

“This happened so that you will be a blessing to others”.

There is no comfort in these words to us. The words feel glib to us at this stage. If you gave us a choice between



perseverance and Lizzie,

stronger faith and Lizzie or

being a blessing to others and Lizzie,



we can tell you what our choice would be.

It wouldn’t even take us a second to think about it.

But Darwin and I accept that we can’t package this tragedy into a neat compartment that has an explanation we can understand. We are accepting of not fully understanding why this had to happen to us. We are resigned to not fully grasping what God meant when He allowed this to happen.

We are holding on to what we know God to be. His character. His sovereignty. His grace. His promise that all this will end soon and that we will see heaven one day.

Grief is our burden to bear, until Jesus comes.

But we know we are not alone.

Come Lord Jesus, come!