"Everyday holds the possibility of a Miracle."

Sunday, May 15, 2011

With Arms Raised

I find it hard to believe that we have been on this journey for a whole year now - on Ethan's birthday this past week I found myself reflecting on what was happening on that day and I can still replay each moment like it was just yesterday.  At excitement felt at noon when I called my back up for the kids and my husband and I headed into the hospital - the closer and more intense the contractions got in the short 10 minute drive, and the hour we spent in the "holding" area as the nurse didn't believe I was in labor - my husband and I smiled at each other over this - they never did with any of my pregnancies - the contractions don't ever bother me much until we are pushing.  So we were laughing and chatting and anxious to meet our new son, until a more experienced nurse came in and proved that I was indeed in labor and far enough along that our son would be arriving very very soon - the other nurse had the good grace to look flushed.  We took it all in stride - it was all normal, until we realized that there was no amniotic fluid - which later explained the pain and the difficulty I had walking in the final weeks of Ethan's pregnancy.  Then the contractions stopped and I had to pushed by sheer will and bring a child into the world and watch time slow.  I knew he was out but the doctor's did not show joy on their faces there was no quick trip to my tummy - the room was silence, and then I heard "Did you expect him to be so small?".  My heart stopped - I remember asking over and over again into the silence "Is he going to be okay?" No one answered me - I wanted my son - I wanted to cuddle and hold him and breath in my baby mine and then they took him from me.  I never got him back - physically until the day he died in my arms.  From that point on he became theirs - their puzzle to solve and I sat helplessly by his bed holding his tiny hand, stroking his hair, and talking to him.  The deepest part of me knew - I knew that I was only going to know this precious child of mine for a short time as outwardly I clung to hope.  The day I was  checked out of the hospital leaving him behind we went home to check on a few things and change before heading back in to continue our vigil.  I walked into our bedroom and fell to the floor beside the cradle we had set up for him and sobbed - all the baskets of tenderly washed and folded newborn clothes, diapers, and other newborn baby things each tenderly chosen for him overwhelmed me and I knew that he would never be in our room - that he wasn't coming home.  It is a year later and still I feel and breath it all like it was yesterday.  I have joined a group of women that I didn't want to be a part of - but who of us do?  I screamed and cried and shouted anger at all of the lost hopes and the pain in our home.  I have begun to find peace and grace in the recent weeks - from the realization that God is still God and I still believe.  I can't explain why - I can't find an answer to the pain and this new reality of me and the sorrow I will carry for the rest of my life on earth - and I don't know that I need to.  Some questions are too big for me and I find greater peace in leaving them in God's hands because He knows and He understands and though I felt abandoned and betrayed by His love - I know that he loves and cares and hurts for our pain.  We sent balloons to heaven on Ethan's birthday - the boys drew pictures and my oldest wrote "I love you Ethan" and then they gleefully sent them up to heaven for their little brother.  My husband and I wrote our own words of love on ours and sent them along with our kisses up and out of site.  That is my deepest connection with my third beautiful son now - arms upraised to heaven - in hope - in longing - and in the wonder of grace at God's providing hand.

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