Grieving with non-aquaintences

I thought about it even through The Hunger Games.  I've thought and dreamt about it since Monday morning when I found the blog, and then Tuesday afternoon when my husband walked in the kitchen after being at the computer and said, "The baby with the bucket list died."  I've been off and on painting my room for the past month and tried to finish it here in this naptime, but I had to stop after only a couple strokes of the brush and come downstairs to type this.  My mind had been completely preoccupied by the pain that I can only imagine these people are feeling.  These people that lost their baby girl to SMA (many of you know who I'm writing about) this past Monday not even a month after they found out she had it, and that they'd be losing her for sure before she turned two.  They didn't even have a MONTH to prepare.
I slept today during naptime for 30 minutes or so and I dreamt about her, about them.  I dreamt about the nauseating pain that mama is feeling everytime she wakes up in the morning thinking that she hears her sweet baby's coos only to be reminded that Avery is gone for good.  Everytime she sees one of the dirty diapers in the trash pail that she changed not even 48 hours ago.  Everytime she looks at the bathmat she had just given her a bath on.  Everytime she smells her precious little clothes and sees those precious little pink shoes sitting my the front door.  Everytime she sees that picture of Avery smiling that her husband took not 20 minutes before Avery's heart failed.  Everytime she takes a breath, wishing beyond all reason that she could squeeze her baby.  That she could make her smile.  Not one last time, like everyone says.  Thats ridiculous!  But for ALL her days!  For all her days until SHE dies, not till the baby dies!  No mama should have to bury her baby.  There's just too.much.pain!
I don't know this pain.  I don't know the twisting in the gut.  I've lost relative babies, and that pain was horrid.  But I've never lost one of my own.  I laid on the ground in the living room and cried so hard I thought my eyes would shrivel up when I found out my sister-in-law was going to lose her sweet Jude.  I don't think I cry for the babies.   Maybe briefly.  But for their mamas.  Oh for their mamas!  The babies don't know the difference, and compared to what they are seeing with their perfect eyes, and what they are experiencing with their flawless bodies now, the times of joy life in this world can bring doesn't hold a candle to sitting on Jesus' knee.  Maybe that sounds calloused.  I don't think being calloused about this is something I struggle with.  I'm happy for the babies.  Even jealous.  But for their mamas!
In these kinds of cases, in particular, I wonder if Eve had been given the opportunity to see even ONE of the pain that these mothers would have to go through, would she have changed her mind about how persuasive the serpant seemed?  Would she have just laughed in his face and said, "screw you!  Go to hell!"  Or, in her weak human flesh would she still have been too drawn in.  What severe consequences we see for living in a broken world!
So, my hold up is, God has blessed me with a gift of empathy with others.  I KNOW that being able to empathize with other's pain is important.  I KNOW that it is Godly, but I find myself having hard time stepping out of that and being able to come back to reality in a timely manner.  Like when my parent's got divorced.  It made me physically sick for MONTHS, partly because I was so distraught over the loss of my immediate family's one-ness, but a lot because it was so hard to see that pain that came with breaking off a 29 year marriage.
I know it's good to weep with others, I just sometimes can't seem to stop.  With this, this recent wave of babies dying (probably mostly because it's being more publicized now), there seems to be just one slam of grief after another.  Even when I don't know them.  I've never met them.  Maybe because I have a baby of my own right now?  It makes me sick to my stomach to think of not waking up to his sweet, "ma ma" in the morning!  It makes me sick to my stomach to think of not being able to squeeze him and kiss his sweet chunky neck.
I know what part of the problem is!  It's that poor bastard Satan!  He uses my empathy as a tool to drive fear into the deepest parts of who I am!  What a sick bastard!  What a sorry son of gun he is!  Go to hell, you sicko!                               Phew.  Sorry about that cussing.
I weep for these parents because of their immediate loss.  The pain of their immediate loss, but I think that one of the reasons I'm hung up on them in-particular is because there is NO mention of seeing her again ANYWHERE on their blog.  I'm pretty sure there's no reassurance in their hearts that they will.  Which to me in the most unimagineable thing possible!  To lose a baby and be hopeless that she's just gone for good.  There's no joy.  No more Avery ever, not even after death.    If only they knew they could see her sweet precious smile again!  Dear GOD I hope someone in their life sees this need in them.  Maybe they are saved, but the way the blog is written, there's no indication of it.  You can see your baby again, people!  It may be a long time, and the road is going to SUCK!  But you can see her again!  And take heart that she is living in pure glory right now!  And hold tight to Jesus!  With tears soaking my computer table, I am SO sorry you can't hold your baby!                         Oh the pain!

And with all that being said, I think it's ok for me to read less.