The morning after

Zane woke us up this morning squirming and laughing. He’s an early riser, usually 6:15 or 6:30 but he was kind and waited until 7 this morning I’m assuming because he was happily sleeping in our bed. He smiled as he sat up and reached over and turned on the radio. “Song,” he proudly said and to his credit at least it was a soft, lovely song instead of one of those terribly loud marches that NPR sometimes likes to use to wake up the world. Zane snuggled back in close to me, lots of hugs and kisses, and then, pop, back up he sits with that smile that gets him out of so much trouble. He throws himself over our bed to our feet and just starts laughing, and then roaring like a tiger. We can’t help but laugh ourselves. And as soon as I do I feel the tears again in my swollen eyes. Here it is, God’s grace, God’s mercy, right in front of us, living in Zane. When he was born we chose his name because it means God is gracious and merciful. How he is his very name this morning to us in our sorrow…

I want a name for this little boy that is meaningful too. Jack, our pastor, told me a story of a family that experienced this same thing with their first child and they named him something that meant “child of sorrow.” How very true and yet, I want a name that is beautiful, and light, and full of the promise of redemption.

Zane is “hungry” and so I must get out of bed. This, too, I believe is a grace. To have these two children who need me in a very physical way. Oh how many times have I complained about just that – about how much I am needed – about how draining it is? I wouldn’t know what to do without the little mundane tasks they require of me now. I get up and pull back one curtain, open the blinds. My normal morning task done out of habit takes on deeper meaning. I have to let the light in. I look our on a world just beginning to light up with the morning sun. It’s a beautiful day and I am grateful for it.

I feel my belly. When I sit down at the computer I pull my shirt up to look at it slightly stretched out. Not far from my belly button is a band aid from the amnio yesterday. I peel it off and wish that a band aid could fix what is wrong. Everything seems so…so… I don’t know, surreal, cliché…I don’t really know how to describe it. A band aid on my belly for this broken child…what do you do with that but cry.