Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The 8th

The 8th

Will the 8th of every month always bring me sorrow?

It has been one month since Amy died.  
The day Amy died my husband and son were outside working and my daughters, my sister and I were with Amy.  I had a dear friend visit for a few minutes and then the hospice nurse came and checked on Amy. Our assistant pastor came and sang for Amy for the last time.  About 11:00 the girls and I washed Amy's hair, put some perfume on her and then we noticed her lips getting blue and my daughter-in-law rushed outside to get her husband and Amy's daddy from the fields. I put on one of Amy's favorite cds, Beethoven's 9th Symphony. I crawled in bed with Amy and held her in my arms. Her oldest sister was holding her on the other side of the bed and the rest of the family was gathered around her. Her Daddy told her it was ok to go to Jesus and before the symphony was over, in a little less than an hour Amy breathed her last and woke up in Jesus' arms. Her only words here on earth were Mama and Dada and she only said them for a few months when she was a toddler. When she opened her eyes in heaven she would have seen her heavenly Father and I'm sure had many words of praise for Him.
I miss her so much, even though I know she is happy and free. It is more than just the loss of a loved one. I took care of her every need and she completed me. I feel like something is missing in my life. Like an amputee must feel. I need to learn how to walk again.
I take comfort in God's words and in music. The  last song our Assistant Pastor sang to Amy was
"It is Well with My Soul." The writer on the hymn knew my sorrow well. He wrote the song after loosing four daughters.

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
 Even so, it is well, with my soul.

It is well, (it is well),
With my soul, (with my soul)
It is well, it is well, with my soul

I cherish the times God whispers peace to my soul, because He does. And I can't wait for the day when my faith will be sight and I will see my Amy again and I will be whole.

1 comment:

  1. Every post you write touches my heart Mrs. Cheryl! Praying for you!