As we prepared for Enoch’s arrival, I had lots of hopes and dreams for him, but there were only a handful of pictures I had in my mind for upcoming events including watching the Grinch (like we do every year) with our friends & their kids, taking him to each of our family Christmas’, Sunday morning church, bagel Friday, and a few others.
This past Sunday is the first we attended church since Enoch died. I knew it was going to be hard. For the weeks prior to Enoch’s arrival I would think to myself, “I hope I’m not here next week because the baby was born.” So the idea of him being born but going without him, was unbearably sad. As we sat there that morning, people were worshiping, listening, and taking notes. They were doing all the things you’re supposed to do in church. But didn’t they see? Didn’t they see the huge void? Enoch was supposed to be there! My friends were supposed to hold him during worship. I was supposed to leave the sanctuary when he started to cry. He was supposed to be passed back and forth between our church community. He was supposed to be there, and yet everyone was functioning like normal! It wasn’t that the sermon was disconnected… in fact the pastor is a close friend, and was talking about our story. It’s not like the whole audience didn’t just hear that our baby died. They did, but they were sitting there, just like any other Sunday. But it wasn’t any other Sunday; not to me! Suddenly all I wanted to do was throw my bible and anything else near me… coffee mugs, books, purses, over the balcony. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle the normal. There was a big gaping void, and nobody saw it.
I knew logically it wasn’t their fault that they were functioning like normal and weren’t acknowledging the void that I felt so deeply. So instead of harming those below, I walked out of the sanctuary and into the bathroom. I needed a break. I needed to regroup.
Attending each of these different events has been especially difficult, but it wasn’t until this past Sunday that I completely understood why. It is the feeling of the void. I had anticipation that Enoch would be with us at these places, but he isn’t. And that is a tangible reminder of the loss of our son.