A Mother’s Desperate Vigil…


Hunched over on my knees, I raise my head. I scan the western horizon praying that I’ll wake from this nightmare. The gut-wrenching fear would pass. Oh, that all this would be a terrible mistake.

Please Lord, oh please don’t allow it to be true.

I don’t even know how I got here. The sand is burning my feet. A mixture of tears, sand and sweat run down my face. I sense there are hands on my back and arms. Someone is whispering something about hope. I’m offered a plastic water bottle. I decline-I don’t want to miss the moment. Grains of sand grind as I try to swallow.

My eyes fill with tears again and I let my body fall prostrate. I grab one of the hands near me and squeeze it so hard it’s punctured. I raise my head a bit rubbing the blue and green spots out of my eyes. There’s not a cloud in the sky. How dare it shine so brightly tonight? I bang my bloody fist on the sand.

Many police cars are parked on the edge of the parking lot behind me, their blinding blue and red lights circling. Several coast guard boats are trolling slowly in front of me. The sun sinks lower, the water smooth like glass now. My mind reenacts the last hours again…

What if I had done something differently? What if I had said no? What if I would have called out at the right time? Guilt begins piling up like a sand-drift. A wave of fear falls over me. A ripple of panic wells up from the deep depth of my gut. Faith in a miracle is stuffed deep in my soul, but can’t quite come to the surface.

Then above me is the roar of a helicopter as it rushes from the east. It tears into my heart. Its presence makes the tragedy seem so true. Along with its intrusion, it brings a hope of removing the pain. The noise as it swoops over the piers takes my breath away.



The sunset has never been so plain. So sinking. The sun just slowly disappears without a trace of fanfare. The noise is deafening now. A friend is speaking something into my ear. My thoughts are in the water as the dusk settles in. The air remains stifling hot. The humidity lays on my skin and mixes with my tears and sweat.

A guttural sound emits from deep within me, which I slightly recognize. It’s a travail that I recognize from the birth, eighteen years ago. All the days following were adventurous. Could the pain again be followed with joy?

I begin to shiver as the full strawberry moon rises out of the corner of my eye on my left. The dampness of the last hours and the slight breeze as the helicopter circles again bring me a cool chill of sorrow.

Dear God, can you? Will you? Someone covers me with a heavy blanket. I rebel against the warmth and rise to my full height with my hands on my hips.


Moving closer to the water, I strain my ears now, willing that I hear a cry of victory. The beach had always been such a joyful and peaceful place. Tonight it was holding my most precious possession.

I knew she wasn’t mine. But she was mine. Oh God please!

Would the darkening cool water release her? Blurry-eyed, I keep striving to see a glimmer of hope. Something to hear. Something to see…

Through the moonlight, I see a group of people near me in a circle of prayer. Two are still on each side of me. The western sky still holds a slight orange.

I realize I am grasping a shirt to my chest with all my strength. It’s damp with sunscreen and her sweat. It smells like the sweetest perfume.

Dear God of miracles, bring me one tonight, and I’ll never ask you for anything else again for the rest of my life.

Again I fall to my knees with a heaving cry. I hold the shirt to my face as I lower it to the ground.

The swish of angels’ wings mix with a huge comforting voice as He holds my shoulders, “I will be with you through this.”


(Disclaimer: This story is fictional and based on the imagination of the author. It is not factual in nature.)

About Myrna Folkert

Myrna is an author who desires to use her gifts to glorify God. She's created this blog to tell stories of her childhood, musings about life, motherless daughters, grief and loss, faith in God, her family history, and facts about the Long QT syndrome. She also has a hearing condition called Tinnitus. Doing interviews with motherless daughters like herself are of great interest. Join in discussions by following this blog and commenting. She would love to hear your stories about life. Myrna is a Christ follower, wife, mother, sister, friend, aunt, and cousin. She was an elementary school teacher for 27 years; now works in her church, and a few other volunteer activities such as Hospice doing "Life Reviews" and Vigils. Myrna loves to read, write, listen to music, go to concerts, and take pictures. Her favorite pastime is boating with her husband near the beautiful shores of West Michigan.
This entry was posted in Death, Family, fear, fiction, God's faithfulness, Grief and loss, heaven, Hope, prayer and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to A Mother’s Desperate Vigil…

  1. Tammi Kale says:

    I my goodness — I haven’t held my breath like that while reading in quite a while!! So glad to find it was fiction! Great job!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. tabitha59reachingout says:

    Oh my word, Myrna! I was sitting here crying and feeling your pain! lol. I am SO glad this wasn’t a reality in your life. Great writing! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Debbie, and God is the author I just try to obey. Yes I sure am thankful that it was a fiction story too. I hope all is going well with you, and hubby is recovering nicely.

      Liked by 1 person

      • tabitha59reachingout says:

        Hello, Myrna. Yes, my hubby is healing well, albeit slowly. His peripheral vision has been fully restored and his strength is coming back to him. It has only been 6 weeks, so there is much more to come. I praise God that he is doing as well as he is. Thank you so much for your prayers. 🙂


  3. lynnjsimpson says:

    Gripping. You get right into the story!

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Wow – you’ve just written what we all might imagine as a mother’s nightmare. Gripping.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Welcome to my blog Lori! Yes I don’t know why I was so convicted to write a fictional story resembling a real situation in our city. I changed details and didn’t know the family. I imagined I was the mom and wrote! Something no one ever wants to experience.


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