I read a story today of a blogger I know.  Not personally, but enough that her contribution to social media and the blogosphere have helped me to have faith in my own parenting methods and solidify my resolve to parent the hard way, even when it isn’t popular.

She lost her 14-month-old son last night.  He died in his sleep.  The cause is still unknown.

I explained to my own 14-month-old today that sometimes people cry because they suddenly realize how very lucky they are, and it becomes overwhelming.  I paused to grieve again the loss of a pregnancy two and a half years ago.  I grieved the loss of my mother and father.  And I grieved for the babies lost around the world, taken before their time, and for the mothers whose hearts are irreparably shattered.

What aches inside me the most is the anguish I know this mother must be feeling.  The absolute rawness in her.  And I wonder how it is that she wills her body to breathe again after losing the very being for which it breathes.  I cannot imagine the depth of her sadness, and shed tears once more knowing there is nothing and no one who can bring her comfort in this moment.

Tonight, we pray to gods with whom we have not spoken in years.  We pray for healing and comfort, for love and calm to be sent to this mother who is no longer with her love, her life.  Tonight we hold each other close, and remember to be kind in all things, for there is never a moment guaranteed, never a day of which we can be sure.