God,
This is not how it was supposed to be.
I was supposed to watch this baby grow.
I was supposed to count first smiles, first words, first steps—not days since my child died.
There should be crying in the night.
Bottles and blankets.
Diapers and exhaustion.
Tiny fingers wrapped around mine.
I would give anything for the exhaustion now.
Lord, how can arms physically ache for someone they cannot hold?
How can a house feel this quiet?
I cannot make sense of this.
So I am bringing You what I have:
my anger,
my questions,
my tears,
my love,
and this terrible emptiness.
Jesus, receive all of it.
Mary, Mother of Sorrows, you held your Son after His death. You understand a parent’s unbearable desire to hold a child and never let go.
Sit beside this mother.
Stand beside this father.
When words are impossible, pray for them.
Blessed Fulton Sheen, intercede for them.
Holy Family, surround this broken family.
And God, please let love be stronger than death.
Amen.