Stupid Hope

It has been such a relief to not feel the need to hide a pregnancy, to stop trying to pretend in my head that it wasn't happening, to let myself emotionally embrace this fourth child of ours. People have been so kind in their joy and excitement for us. Sometimes it is quite draining to try and explain why we withheld our news from practically everyone but then, I think most people probably understand. Our news is good and joyous but of course quite different from that first time I found out we were expecting. I do not feel so naive and light hearted. I feel quite guarded in my happiness realizing that life is fragile, that I am still not guaranteed anything, even a healthy baby in my arms.

But friends have been so dear and kind to us. One girlfriend insisted on a baby boy buying spree at Babies R' Us. When I walked through those doors I couldn't help but think of the last time I was there, to buy but a few very tiny things for my Sully. Those sweet things now find themselves on Ella's dolls, and a few I could not give up are tucked away in Sully's box. I think about some of Sully's things and wonder which ones I will pass on to this boy. It seems only right that Sully should be able to pass on something as all big brothers do, that this little brother of his would know the story behind the blanket, the hand-knit booties that Sully's feet were just too small for. But I think Sully's hats will always remain his. I can't pass those on. His image is so closely connected to those blue hats made with such tenderness for him. And I think those tiny clothes will stay with Ella's collection. If this baby is as healthy as we hope, he will never fit in those tiny things. What a strange thought.

Even stranger still to me is the fact that only five months before this little life came into being, Sully lived where he now does. Sometimes I think we are absolutely crazy to do this again. I think about how tired my body is of being pregnant. Brad and I have termed it "stupid hope" that caused us to even attempt to walk down this road again. But somehow, it seems right. Despite the fatigue, I am grateful that I am able to carry a child again.

Sully's little brother

Good News!

A phone call came today - and on the other end was a voice saying, "I have good news!" Our test results finally came back and this baby is well! This child I am carrying is genetically whole and healthy - genetically perfect! I want to live in this good moment, in this hope. I'm pushing away the sadness. Just for a moment I don't want to let it in. I don't want to listen to the voices of reality reminding me that we aren't promised anything, that even healthy babies have things go wrong. So I do. I push it all aside and believe, if just for this moment, that life will be good again, that I will know the sweetness and yes, even the sleepless misery of a newborn. Yet the ache is inescapable; I see it in Brad's eyes. I know we can never change our story. I know that this is our fourth child, not our third. But I want to hope that this little life will bring with it healing for all of us.

Two Blankets

I am waiting. I have been in this state of waiting much of this past year. First, we waited to see if tell-tale blood work was accurate with an ultrasound of our third child. That was one year ago this past week. We were devastated but then had more conclusive testing done to be sure. We waited some more. No good news came after we waited. So, then we waited for this child to possibly die in my wound or be born, whichever came first. And he was born and lived for six days filled with love and light but also with the waiting, the knowing that the days would end before they ever should for a child.

I sit on my bed and look at Sully's beautifully crafted box, the one made by his grandfather. On top of it is the blanket I made for him, the blanket that held and touched his sweet skin for those brief days of his life here on earth. And now, folded even smaller on top of it is another blanket. I found it years ago but just recently rediscovered it tucked away in a closet. It is so soft, a warm creamy color with intricate blue crochet work added to the edges. I bought it as a possible gift for someone having a baby boy but today I pulled it out and gave it to myself. I look at the two blankets as I am once again waiting.

We had genetic testing done two weeks ago and have anxiously waited for our results. But it seems our test cells are growing slowly and the results are taking a bit longer than we hoped. I broke down today when they didn't come in yet again. How long will I live waiting? I just want to hear something good, something hopeful. I want to hear that the child I have carried these past three months is healthy and whole. That this baby will stay with us, and yes, make us miserable with lack of sleep! That this baby will grow up to love and annoy his older brother and sister. That yes, living here, this child will know suffering and pain but that still, it will be here for my arms to hold. So, I wait and wonder if this blanket will hold a new life, a healthy life. Could I feel joy in carrying a child again? Could this new life bring healing, bring a sense of restoration? Will the waiting ever end?

Found!

For our anniversary present Brad and I gave ourselves the gift of a special house cleaning - what a treat! I loved not having to scrub toilets! But, the best part of it all was walking back into our (lovely smelling) house to find my camera sitting on the table! I was so excited and so relieved. All of those pictures placed back on my table, just like that. I called to try and found out where it had been - still don't know - but I don't really care. I'm just glad it has been found!

So here is my Zane - my big three year old Zane! I am so absolutely smitten with him! Happy Birthday big boy!

Lost

I've lost the camera I used last night to capture Zane blowing out his three candles for his third birthday. I've lost the image of him bursting through the streamers hung over his door and his excited smile over the balloons covering his floor. Brad insists that it will show up but I feel like I'm losing my mind. I feel like I've lost something forever. I know the camera can be replaced but none of those moments will.

I've searched our house high and low. I've gone through our trash twice now. I've gone through pine straw by hand, walked the yard at least five times. I've looked under couches and cushions, behind and below furniture, everywhere I could have put it and everywhere I know I absolutely wouldn't have put it. I can find it nowhere.

That's what I was doing this morning as I was supposed to getting ready for church. When we should have been leaving I just cried on my bed. I told Brad that rationally I should let it go and accept it for lost. But I was paralyzed. I couldn't get ready. I couldn't do anything. The world stops for me when something is lost.

I remember as a child my father's incredible rages he would enter when something of his was lost. Everyone had to stop what they were doing and at least pretend to look as he yelled and demanded of us to find what had been done with his lost item. I know I have a trigger for lost things because of this. In fact, I remember Brad asking me the first time after we were married where something was and totally flying into a defense of how I wasn't responsible for whatever he had lost. He was totally taken back and caught off guard by my "baggage".

I hate it when something is lost. In fact, when things are lost I feel unsafe. That makes total sense given the conditioning of my childhood. But on my hands and knees as I scoured the pine straw I realized that's part of what is going on in my heart right now. I have been questioning the "safety" of God, whether he really protects us, what his promises really are. He obviously didn't protect me and my family from the pain of losing a child. So, what does he protect us from? Is it just hell-insurance? What about right now? I see that I feel very unsafe right now because I will forever have to live with the fact that my third child is lost to me. Something great has been lost and I do not feel safe.

Seattle and an Orcas Island wedding

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