GRIEF: GOD'S WAY OF HEALING THE HEART
  PART I

by James White

This is lovingly dedicated to the memory of Autumn Dawn Middleton.  She lived only a short while on this earth, but in that brief time she brought joy into the lives of so many, including, especially, her grandpa Mike Middleton, for whom also this is written.

Autumn's Grandpa Mike

When I picked up the phone I thought my friend Mike was calling about my computer.  He had kept me sane during the preceding weeks when I was going through "upgrade trauma," and I thought he was calling about the next item we needed to replace.  But I was wrong. 

"Jim" he said, his voice strangely thin.  "I lost my grand-daughter last night.  She's gone."

Ministers, and those who have worked as hospital chaplains, have this strange belief that they are supposed to have immediate answers in such situations.  We think we are supposed to be super-human or something and always be prepared for such an announcement.  I proved my humanity by responding with nothing more than, "What?"

Mike went on to tell me more about what had happened.  His grand-daughter, Autumn Dawn, had been born four weeks and one day earlier.  I had remembered his joy and pride at his first grandchild.  But now she was gone, and as Mike said, "Last night I just wanted to die.  I've lived forty seven years in this world, and made a mess of things.  Why couldn't God take me and leave her?"

I had gathered enough of my wits about me to realize that now was not the time for in-depth theological analysis of the transcendent reasons behind this tragedy.  There would be time enough for that another day.  For now, I simply wanted to be there for my friend, so I asked if there was anything I could do. 

The viewing was Friday night.  I've done my share of funerals, having worked as a hospital chaplain, and so I'm not a stranger to death.  But there is simply something "wrong" with seeing a 29-day old baby girl in a funeral chapel.  My mind didn't want to accept the reality before me.  I held Mike and we cried together. 

The funeral was the next morning.  The congregation of Mike's church was there for him.  His pastor did a masterful job.  I don't believe I could have made it through such an experience.  I simply can't control my tears well enough.  They took the tiny cradle out of the church and whisked it away in a hearse.  Words failed me. 

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