I lost three babies before birth, and the grief was more agonizing than my father’s suicide, because a mother is supposed to be able to protect her babies, and I couldn’t.
Two of them are buried with my father, where I will lie down some day. Sometimes I wish I could swim through the earth to them - but they are not there - they are at heaven’s feast.
I have this mental picture of human existence. We are, billions of us, like candles, a vast galazy of candles, steadily being snuffed out in huge wide darkening swaths. Even people who attain to 90, in a full and accomplished life, are really just living the blink of an eye, in the history of the Universe; most of the humans who have ever lived have already been extinguished, their molecules scattered; and our extinction --- if that's what it be --- rushes dark upon us.
So there are, as I see it, just two options: either all our lives are meaningless, like our doomed babies, only an instant to shine, and an eternity to be forgotten (and all our thoughts about "Valuable" and "Beautiful" and "True, so true" and "More Precious than..." are unbearable nullities) -- or---
Or God saves every good thing; nothing is futile; nothing is lost; all is in Him, saved, stored, restored: come to Him and in His heart find all.
About 45 years ago, good gracious, I read a poem of which I will never forget the last line:
"Wherefore He will sometime blow out the sun, And snuff the stars,
Preferring candle-light..."