Tears In A Bottle
This is an excerpt from the chapter Tears In A Bottle, contributed by Joyce Manalang in the book This Season of Grief. She talks about the pain of losing a baby during this pandemic and how the Lord can use our grief to comfort others.
That night, at home, troubling thoughts robbed me of my sleep: Did I not take enough care of my baby? Did I not rest enough? Did I not eat healthy enough? Should have I just resigned from work? The thoughts were louder on the days that followed, amplified by text messages I received questioning whether I rested enough and could have I avoided the miscarriage. Pain was an expected enemy, but blame was a tougher foe. Then regret followed pain and blame, as if I wasn’t wounded enough already. I wrestled with these thoughts in silence, falling into self-pity and self- doubt.
Grief is gruesome. It corners you when it sees you alone, and it makes itself known. It wants attention. It paralyzes and makes you focus on the memory of the pain. So the first response was to struggle and get out of its grip. But more thoughts of doubt came. Will I still be able to have another child? Again I struggled, but with all efforts futile, I realized there’s no escaping grief. So I stopped struggling and decided to look at grief face to face. I allowed myself to cry when grief wanted me to. I stayed in bed as long as I had to. Then I cried again, until tears were no more.
Then grief became gentle. When my bleeding lessened, I started to go back to my daily routine of work, chores, and taking care of Jaeden. One friend at a time, I shared my story and showed Mirelle’s pictures to those who dared to see. I would shed tears each time. But later on, the pain of remembering did not linger anymore. Occasionally, the questions would visit me again at night but sleep eventually won. I sought out friends who went through similar experiences and validated my emotions. I wasn’t alone.
Then finally grief became grace. I look back and see that it was a gift to mourn, to feel deep pain, and to be comforted by others. It is God’s grace that through grief I can also comfort others. I can say, “I know how it feels.” It is grace that this grief is not just for me. Someday it can soothe someone’s sorrows.
It is also grace that grief is time-bound. The book of Ecclesiastes says there is a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to grieve and a time to dance. Time though may not be the same for everyone, but surely grief is not forever.
While driving one day, I heard this song in my playlist “There is a God” by Philips, Craig, and Dean. That day, it seemed like I heard it for the first time—as if the song was made for me. I drove and cried at the same time as I listened to its lyrics of a familiar psalm. As I sang along to it, the words became a balm to my aching heart. The psalmist says, He collects my tears in His bottle. So at that moment, I just let them flow.
I went home and searched for the words in my Bible and found them in Psalm 56:8, NLT:
“You keep track of all my sorrows
You have collected all my tears in your bottle
You have recorded each one in your book.”
I have not tallied each tear I had shed but my sorrows were no secret or surprise to Him. God collects them in a bottle and keeps record of each one. Knowing the Almighty sees my sorrows brought me to a realization: Grief bridges our pain to peace. Grief makes us search for answers. Oftentimes, full understanding won’t come. But there is a God who understands all these and has only our good in mind, and so I can go on.
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About the book:
In this season of grief, many have suffered different kinds of loss.
We’ve suffered the loss of the physical—loved ones, our health, income, possessions. We’ve suffered the loss of the intangibles— freedom, memories, justice, peace. We’ve also suffered the loss of the ambiguous; we know we have lost them even though we could not name them. We feel all these losses and cry out in a collective, pandemic grief.
This book comes alongside those grieving many kinds of loss — not as an authority hurriedly dismissing a grief but rather, as a gentle friend who says, “I understand…”
Through stories, poetry, prayers, and practical help, this book brings comfort and hope to those languishing in this season of grief.
With writings by:
Ang Tala
Albit Rodriguez
Annabel Manzanilla-Manalo
Carmelo “Mel” Caparros II
Dan Andrew S. Cura
Feliz Lucas
Francis Kristoffer L. Pasion
Ida Torres
J.M.
j. p. berame
Joanna Nicolas-Na
Joey L. Castillo, Jr.
Jophen Baui
Joyce Tongson-Manalang
Karen Huang
Larry Pabiona
Lourdes Batac
Maloi Malibiran-Salumbides
Maria Susan Gonzalez-Lim
Maria Teresa Banzagales-Abiva
Melba Padilla Maggay
Melvin Jansen Ang
Michellan Sarile-Alagao
nathania aritao
Nicodemo S. Estrada
Philip Manuelson D. Arandia
Rico Villanueva
Timothy Ervin T. Ngo
Yna S. Reyes
Foreword by: Cathy Babao