Why Me?

A mother questions God in the greatest loss of her life. by Lucille Kellogg

The service concluded, and mourners filed past the casket covered with red roses. Banks of wreaths surrounded it and spilled out across the front and sides of the funeral parlor's chapel. From my seat in the parlor's family room, I numbly watched but couldn't register any face. When the parlor emptied, I stood and slowly walked toward the casket.

I woke up with a jolt and bolted upright in bed, my heart pounding against my ribs. I gasped for breath and shook violently.

I was so upset by this dream I'd had each night during the past two weeks that I began to think our upcoming trip should be canceled. Surely God was preparing me for the death of a family member.

As the final week progressed before we left, I began to rationalize. Mom and Dad had planned so long and were looking forward to the two weeks' vacation with my younger sister's family, my three daughters, and me to visit relatives. If this was a warning, it must be about my grandpa, who was in his seventies and suffering ill health.

On the road

As we drove through the northern Rocky Mountains in the pre-dawn hours this August day, I saw a light sprinkling of snow from a storm that passed through during the night. What a beautiful sight God gave to remind us of His love. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw my daughters' delight with the scene. A smile lit my face, and a fullness squeezed my heart. Kathy, Diane, and Helen were my pride and joy and life.

On the third day, as planned, we arrived at Uncle Jim and Aunt Lizzie's home in Illinois. The three-day visit was wonderful despite the August heat. Kathy, with her charm, happiness, and effervescence, added three more admirers to her list.

Saturday we drove to Bloomington, where a great-aunt and great-uncle anticipated our visit. Uncertain of our route, we stopped at a service station to ask directions. The proverbial "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom" chorused from three little girls, prompting the trek to the bathroom. My dad took up his usual position beside the car, saying he would watch for the children to come out.

Panic

Washing her hands, Kathy said, "Mommy, we're going out to Grandpa." Taking her sister Diane's, hand, she left the bathroom. In just a minute, Diane returned, pale and wide-eyed.

"Where is Kathy?"

No answer. Just wide eyes looking at me.

Opening the door, I looked out over a cemented area. In the middle was a two-by-two wooden cover. I knew it was a cistern, but the cover was in place.

Calling to Dad, I asked if he had seen Kathy. His "no" sent me running to the back of the station, calling her name, thinking perhaps she had gone the wrong way. I circled the cornfield beyond, the yard of the house next door, then around to the service area. I asked the men working there if they had seen a four-year-old girl. Another "no."

Panic struck. She's been abducted! I ran across the road to a wooded area, calling her name. All I got was the pounding of my heart in my ears and silence beyond.

Poling

Returning to the station, I found Dad at the cistern, poling in the murky water. I sat beside him, watching him raise the pole, moving it over a few inches, and slowly pushing it down until he touched bottom. Again and again he repeated this process, always touching solid bottom. I sat staring into the murk, denying she could be there because the lid had been in place.

Up the pole came, over a few inches, down it went. A sharp intake of Dad's breath and his whispered words "There she is" told me he had felt a soft spot with the pole.

Pain

Immediately, I dropped to my stomach and reached for the pole. Just as quickly, Dad's arm flung in front of me. I had to connect with Kathy; he had to keep me from falling into the water that held his granddaughter. Staring down, all I saw was the surface of dirty brown water with my tears falling into it. My mind screamed, I can't reach you, Kathy! I can't reach you!

A numbness began to seep into my mind and body. The arm of a law officer who had been summoned to the scene wrapped around my shoulders. He led me to the car where my mother, sister, and the other children sat. He opened the door and gently handed me into the car. I could see nothing but the crowd around the site.

Minutes later the officer returned, carrying a small bundle wrapped in his coat. Kathy's little blue tennis shoes dangled out the side. He carefully laid her on the lawn. My eyes fixed on those shoes. I've got to go to her! I silently cried. I begged my sister and mother to let me go to her, but they held me back.

While waiting for the hearse, Dad and the officer pieced together what probably happened. The wooden cover had caught Kathy's attention as she came out of the bathroom. Curious, she slid her fingers under the lid, walking forward. With the lid obstructing her view, she walked into the opening and fell into the cistern. The lid fell back over the opening, closing the cistern. Due to foliage along the road side of the cistern, the area was hidden from Dad's view and only her sister had observed her disappearance and was too frightened to tell us.

Plane ride

As the hearse left the scene, my mind and body became totally numb. I recall nothing until I woke up in an upstairs bed at my great-aunt and great-uncle's house. After making arrangements to ship Kathy's body back to California, I boarded a plane that night with Diane and Helen.

The airline placed us in first class where there were no other passengers. As we prepared for take off, the clouded sky opened up, and rain poured down in sheets. The pilot quickly flew up through those clouds and leveled off where a full moon and stars brightened the sky and beams bounced off the clouds below. I stared out the window.

God, why me? I thought. She was my firstborn. Why did You take her? Even with the glorious moonlight shining through the window, my mind couldn't accept that God could give such beauty after such a tragedy.

Accusations

After we landed, my husband and his aunt and uncle walked onto the plane to assist us off. My husband's face showed no sympathy or compassion -- only accusation and anger. When we were alone, he told me, "Kathy's death is your fault. If you would've stayed home, she'd be alive."

His words cut deep. I couldn't sleep that night. When I thought he was asleep, I slipped out of bed and sat at the dining room table with Kathy's picture. Am I to blame? Should I have stayed home and disappointed my parents?

I hadn't been up long when my husband came into the room. "What are you doing up?" he demanded. "Why are you crying?" He grabbed the picture out of my hands. Berating me for acting childish, feeling sorry for myself, and being a poor mother, he walked throughout the house removing all the pictures of Kathy and hiding them.

I went about doing what I had to do for the week. I struggled to hide my grief in his presence and remained silent around him.

Nightmare come true

The funeral was planned with little input from me. When I looked out the family room at the chapel the day of the funeral, I was stunned. It looked just like the scene in my horrible dreams before the trip. I couldn't make myself go near the coffin. Family and friends hugged me and spoke words of sympathy. Why me? I continued to wonder. In the presence of others, I had relief from my husband's angry words and could let my grief show, thinking I could get all the tears out before we were alone again.

But after everyone left and I shut the door, my husband scolded me. "You acted childish at the funeral. You embarrassed me!"

I bowed my head and went into the bedroom with the girls. What could I say?

Routine

I methodically did the home chores. Life was a dull ache. I continued to ask, Why me? I felt abandoned, that God was punishing me for some-thing. Was it because I had gone with my parents on the vacation? My husband had been asked to go too but had chosen not to. Should I have stayed home? I developed a routine of doing the home tasks in the morning, putting the girls in the car, going to the cemetery, and sitting beside that tiny grave in the afternoons.

Three months later, as I sat beside Kathy's grave with my arms around Diane and Helen, I began to wake up and look around. It was the children's section with graves of newborn babies. Some had lived only days or weeks and others a few years. I wondered about their mothers. Did they have other children, or were their arms empty? How did they cope with this grief, or were they still grieving? What did life hold for them after their loss? I saw no one at those gravesides. Had they moved on and forgotten? Were they also questioning and blaming God as I was?

Revelation

I thought of what Jesus told Martha: "I am the one who raises the dead and gives them life again. Anyone who believes in me, even though he dies like anyone else, shall live again" (John 11:25, TLB).

I looked at Diane and Helen, then at Kathy's grave. God was asking me to give up one but had left my arms full. Why not me?

He promised to be with me and sustain me in my grief. Why not me?

He promised to be with me throughout my life on this earth. Why not me?

He even promised to carry me if I was too weak to walk. Why not me?

He promised that He will return Kathy to my arms for eternity. Why not me?

He promised to restore joy to Kathy and me someday. Why not me?

When I have so much, why not me?

Meet Lucille Kellogg

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