I've been wondering that a lot lately. Why me? Why exactly did my baby die? I just don't get it.
I'm not saying that in the "oh woe is me" sense either (well, not tonight, anyway). I'm just posing the question to the gods - to the cosmic powers that be; why? Is it one big reason? Is it a million small ones? Will I ever really know or will I spend the rest of my life speculating?
I tend to believe that things happen for a reason, mostly because randomness is too frightening a concept to me. I hate the idea that Thomas died for a reason (what reason could possibly be good enough?), but the thought of him dying for no reason at all is immensely more disturbing to me. So I have to assume that the reason was a good one, or maybe a zillion good ones, most of which I'll never know about.
But is that fair? Is it fair for me not to know why my baby died? Fine, he died for a really good reason (or millions of them) but it doesn't seem right that his mother shouldn't know why - shouldn't at least have the comfort of knowing the good that has come (or will come) from such a horrific loss.
I've seen wonderful things since Thomas died - I've seen people change, I've witnessed hearts open, I've watched walls fall down - but couldn't there have been a way for all those wonderful things to happen without him dying?
I keep hoping the one reason or the million and one small ones will somehow be big enough to make up for his loss, but I just don't see how they possibly can.
Then I think maybe that kind of thinking devalues his life. Just because it was only 20 hours long doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't a full life. It was his entire life, and maybe that's all it was supposed to be, just like some people live to be 94. His time was measured in hours, not years, but that doesn't mean his life wasn't important.
The thing is, I figured all that out a long time ago. I know his life was important - it was incredibly important to me, to My Beloved and to everyone who loved our Thomas.
It's not a matter of me convincing myself that his life was important. It's a matter of me trying to understand why it was important for his life to be just 20 hours long. Why him?
I think of all the hopes and dreams I had for him - all the things I thought I'd see him do and achieve - and he couldn't even take his own breaths, except for the tiny gasps right before he died (gasps I can still here - those are the only sounds I ever heard him make). Why was that his life? Why couldn't God have figured out a way for him to make an impact on this world and still be alive today?
I'm dangerously close to blasphemy here, I believe. I shouldn't question God. I shouldn't, but why not? He can't possibly expect me to understand any of this or accept it without question, can he? What human could possibly do that - accept the loss of one so loved without question? Even Jesus questioned his fate - or at the very least begged for a different one - if God would allow it.
But he didn't. If he couldn't or wouldn't spare his own son, I suppose it makes sense that he wouldn't spare mine either.
Look at me! I'm running on the world's most horrifying hamster wheel lugging my bag of sorrow and trunk of questions around with me! Around and around and around we go. No answers, just endless turning and more questions.
I'm grateful I've been able to see so many beautiful things come from Thomas' death. I will always be grateful for that, and for everyone who shows me (whether they know it or not) how they've been changed by my son.
But I also know I'll spend the rest of my life searching for more reasons to add to my list. I just don't see how I'll ever be able to stop. I couldn't do that to Thomas.
And so I'll keep asking why until I die.