A parent never fully recovers from the death of their child, no matter the child’s age. The family will always have a hole that won’t be filled. This especially true for a mother. A baby’s first love is his mother. He’s dependent upon her for nurturing, feeding, and love.
My son was twenty-nine years old when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My loss is no less devastating than if he had been a youngster and living at home.
I’m writing a book about my journey through the valley of the shadow of death, into God’s grace. The book is written to offer hope to other mothers that they will survive the ripping apart of their family’s fabric, and will find healing in Jesus.
Woven into each chapter are stories of how I found God’s grace to be sufficient in the middle of what is called the worst loss. There are many books on the subject of bereavement, but none touches the mother’s heart like mine.
This isn’t a how-to book, nor is it a depressing saga of watching my son die. He knew his eternal destination, which comforted him and me through the terrible months.
Watch for excerpts in the coming weeks, just to whet your appetite for when it’s finally published.