Saturday, April 19, 2008


A friend wrote a post that I wanted to respond to but I just knew it would be an obscenely long comment and the subject deserves more than a comment space provides.

Skylana's post is called: blessed? And in reading it I was reminded of a conversation me 'n andy have periodically about God's timing in our life, His purposes, and hardest for me to deal with...the times when He brings hardship, pain, or death into our lives.

And so, because I've been wanting to post on this for a long time and rather than post a short disjointed comment, I decided to embark on probably one of the hardest subjects I ever have to talk about.

In 2000, not long after we were married, we found out we were pregnant.


Early one morning, a week before we were moving to our house, I sat in the still silence of the day and I took out the little blue box that holds all of my tangible memories from that time in my life.

It always takes a build up of courage to take the lid off. It holds the journal I kept throughout the entire time, the ultrasound photographs, cards and messages from both during and after, the star book from my gram, the half started, blue baby book with silver booties on the front, and the little box with his name written across the top holding his ashes. Tobin John Weber, March 29th, 2001

We lost him before we even knew him and even though the pain is less now, I still mourn the loss of his life and the loss of the life we would have had with him. I miss him in this moment.

The doctor didn't have answers. The autopsy, the months of tests afterwards, nothing was revealed. They couldn't provide me with any reason, any closure. There was no medical explanation behind his death. He was strong, he was healthy, his heart was strong, his organs were developed, his placenta was nutrient rich....I still get caught up in the frustration that there were no answers.

But I know there was a reason. I may not know it until I die, but I can believe that it was not a malicious reason, or an un-just reason. It was right for me, it was right for him, it was right for us. I don't like it. I can still be angry at times. I miss him terribly and I wish that I could see him grow up. I wish I could have been his mother, taken care of him, saved him. I just want once for him to hear me whisper in his ear, I love you.
But, still. I am blessed.

Throughout the past seven years I've had many times where I thought, "oh, this is the reason, this is why all that happened, God has a purpose." And I can honestly say that even though it may not be any of those reasons, or maybe it's all those reasons, it doesn't matter. I'm learning to trust Him. I'm learning to feel blessed in all of life.


Seven years ago when my world began to crash around me, when we found out something was going terribly wrong and we might lose him, I wouldn't have believed you if you had told me seven years later, to the day, I would be handed the keys to our home.

How can it be that the day of the seventh anniversary of what I would always consider the worst day of my life, became the day we moved into our first home? This isn't coincidence, this isn't a change in luck. This is a thoughtful architecture of a life created, crafted by One that cares, that loves, that holds me dear.



Bethany said...


skylana said...

i loved all your kind ofs in my comment ;)

i'm not like a weird numbers person, and usually i hate when people get all crazy about 7 and God, but it is a little interesting that its on the 7th anniversary.

i love you. i love this post.

Anonymous said...

I don't have any good words for this situation; I only know how destroyed we would be if something like this happened to us and say that I'm so happy for you guys that you have survived and can still find happiness.

Jen said...

I love you Meg. This was an amazing post.
I hope to see you (and your new home!) soon.