Resurrection

What would make me happy?

Well, I can tell you very simply. The resurrection of my three dead children would.

But that will never happen. Despite fundamental christians around the world who spout about the miracles of god and/or jesus.

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My three children were prayed for.

By hundreds if not thousands of people around the world.

Most of those people were fervent believers. Christians from different christian churches around the world. People who believed that god would hear their prayers and answer those prayers. People who believed in god's miracles, and who believed that god would heal and/or save my children.

They were wrong. How wrong they were.

And what do those people have to say now? Not much as it turns out. Because what do you say to a couple who have held three dead children in their arms? Who have buried three absolutely perfect children? It turns out those fervent believers don't have much to say at all.

One person tried the whole "be glad they are in god's arms" route, and nearly got their head bitten off for it. And then I get told by others, "oh, but they mean well", and that's supposed to make everything all right.

Well, here's news for you. IT DOES NOT make everything all right. Because everything is wrong. So very wrong. There is nothing right about our lives. NOTHING.

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I really did believe in god you know. Before all this happened.

I believed that god had a plan for me, for my life, before I was even born.

I believed in miracles.

I believed in healing.

Now I don't.

I don't believe in any of it.

This is what I believe in: my children are all dead. And none of my beliefs changed that.

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I have a friend who also lost her baby. And she has been unable to become pregnant since. She is a christian.

One day on FB she asked (in her status update) why this had happened, why she had lost her beautiful little girl. And many responded. Many christians. They said things like "be strong", "god has a reason", "god will reward you for your faith", and stuff like that. And the purpose of all those comments is to make you feel stronger, to make you believe that god is still in charge, to "encourage" you in your journey in life.

I wonder often how my friend feels today - several years later. When she still has not conceived another baby. I know she feels the pain and love for her lost little baby girl every day. I know she feels sadness and disappointment and fear that she might never have another child.

I imagine that she prays every day.

Does she still trust that god planned everything in her life before she was even born?

Does she still believe that god is in charge?

Does she still want to believe? Is her belief encouraging her or is it destroying her?

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How much and for how long can you live your life for god until you decide that it's a one way street? Aren't there supposed to be some benefits? (The fervent would say "no" -- god is god and you must bow down to that.)

But I was taught, and the bible says, that there are. Benefits that is.

The bible says that god answers prayers. The bible says that the faithful may ask and then they shall receive. It's pretty clear.

Otherwise why would we pray every day for the safety of our family? I mean, why?

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People pray for me.

I mean, they can really stop, and I've told them to, but they keep praying.

It hasn't helped. Not at all. But praying has become so much a fundamental part in these people's lives, that they can't stop.

My sister is a missionary. That's right, the old-fashioned kind. A christian missionary. She is a member of an international youth missionary movement. Her husband is also a missionary.

When Kees was in the NICU, on machines, she flew here from Australia. She came here not only to support us, but to pray for him. She prayed for him all the way from Australia. She prayed for him here. The entire body of the international youth missionary movement was praying for him with her.

Let me be clear. She prayed for him to LIVE.

But he didn't. He died instead. Her prayer was not answered.

My parents are also fundamental christians. My father is a lay preacher in the local church. He is the chaplain at the local hospital.

My mum also flew here when Kees was in the NICU. She also prayed. So did the congregation of her church, as well as everyone associated with those churches.

She also prayed for him to LIVE.

Thousands of people around the world, including many from hundreds of churches around the world, prayed for my son Kees whilst he was in the NICU, on those horrible machines, in the hospital. They all prayed for him to LIVE.

I prayed for him. I prayed for approximately 48 hours. That was the time from when Kees stopped breathing on our sofa at home to when his machines were turned off in the NICU. I prayed for god to heal him. I prayed that Kees would live.

Craig and I held our son in our arms when the doctors turned those horrible machines off. I prayed the whole time. It was a mantra. I asked god to heal Kees. I asked god to save Kees. Over and over again. And all the time his heart-rate was slowing. But I kept praying anyway.

I never said a last thing to my son Kees. No last words to my beautiful son. Because I was too busy praying.

In the room next to us were my mum, my sister, Craig's mum and dad, Craig's sister, my uncle and aunt and a cousin. They were all praying. They were (and still are) all fundamental christians (except for Craig's sister, but I think she also wanted to believe at that moment). They all believe in god's power. They believe in miracles. They believe in resurrection. They still do.

We were all praying for the same thing. That Kees would LIVE.

But he didn't. He did not live. He died instead.

God did not heal my son. My son did not live. My son died. God did not answer our prayers.

The last words I uttered over my son's living body were words of prayer.

And I can tell you the exact moment that I stopped believing in god. It was that moment on 21 March 2008, just after midday. That moment when the doctor came in and told us that Kees' heart had stopped beating. That he was dead. That moment when Craig and I had stopped holding our living son, and were instead holding our son's dead body.

That was the moment when I stopped believing.

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I don't believe any more. Not in anything really.

I don't believe in religion. I don't believe in trust. I don't believe in kindness. I don't believe in people. You name it, and I don't really believe.

Oh, but wait. There is one thing. I believe in Craig.

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Do I hold god responsible?

No, not really. There is no god so how could he be responsible?

There are people I blame. But god is not on the list. Because god is not real.

Doctors are real. Paramedics are real. Scientists are real. God is not.

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I don't have much hope these day. For anything.

But. I hope for this: that babies will stop dying.

I hope for this: that other women like me will once again have the opportunity to parent a living child.

I hope for this: that maybe one day someone will be able to tell me why my beautiful children died.

I hope for this: that people will stop telling me that god has a plan. That everything happens for a reason.

I hope for this: that people will NEVER forget my children.

I hope for this: that people will remember that Craig and I have three beautiful children. That their death does not mean they are not important. That their death does not mean they no longer exist.

I don't have much to hope for, but that's it really.