Saturday, March 20, 2010


It happens at the strangest times.

It tip toes up behind me when I least expect it.

Sometimes I just don't see it coming.

And I miss him.


Being at work used to be a big trigger, but not so much lately. And I guess because it hasn't been a problem for so long now, I let my guard down.

Mistake for sure.

It started as soon as I walked through the door. Those doors.

I'm used to entering through them now, the doors outside of the Pediatric wing, but there was a time when stepping foot inside them sent waves of panic rolling through me. And that happened again tonight, for the first time in a long time.

The smell.

The sounds.

The vision of it.

Exactly as it was. And I was transported, for an instant, back to my time there with Everett and Landon. My heart was heavy before my shift even began.

And then infamous "how many kids do you have?" was asked. I have the quick and simple answer, and felt ashamed for it, and my heart grew even heavier.

I took a little walk to get a chocolate bar, and was browsing the bulletin boards, when a picture of a baby with a surgical incision up his sternum caught my eye. "Help save ******'s heart" the sign read, it was a fundraiser for a baby born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome. My heart sank a little deeper.

On my way back to the elevators I passed a sign I pass all the time, a picture of one of our pediatricians leaning into an isolette to examine a tiny baby. Memories came speeding back at me, my heart raced, and sank, and broke.

And now here I am, trapped in a place that holds so many good, and bad memories, feeling more then I want to be feeling, remembering more then I want to remember, and feeling pained and heavy hearted.

It happens, when I least expect it, and at the most inconvenient times.

I miss him.

I miss being full of excitement and anticipation and hope.

I've fully come to grips with the reality of losing Everett. I've made my peace with God and let him comfort me. My faith has grown and deepened, further assuring me of a reunion one day with my lost baby boy.

But something in me craves a special kind of healing.

The desire comes deep from within, or perhaps from beyond me. It's strong and unexplainable. And calls for another chance. Not to "do over", because Everett cannot be "done over", there can be no alternate ending, and there can be no undoing of our experiences. They are ours, they are precious and painful and real and a part of who we are today. But something very deep within me calls for another baby. For another chance to conceive, carry, deliver, and care for another baby created by Elvis and I from great love and faith. It's a scary thought, but my faith in God, and my past experiences with loss have taught me that risk, and trust, are worth it, and that the pay out can be so incredible.

I have a beautiful daughter, two beautiful sons, and a mystery baby in Heaven, and something deep within me feels the call to have another baby.

I feel it even more when I walk through those doors outside the Pediatric wing. And I crave to be there on happier circumstances.

I feel it even more when I see that sign with the Dr. checking in on the new born baby, and I think about having another new born of my own.

I feel it when I see a TV show with a pregnant character, when I see a pregnant woman on the street or in the mall, when I drive by Babies R' Us, when I look at baby pictures of my kids, when I take pictures of someone elses babies, and when I care for old ladies long past their childbearing years and I wonder if they wished they could have had one more.

Grief comes with longing.

Longing for the past, and for the unknown present.

Grief creates desire.

Desire to remember and hold on to memories, desire to heal and be pain free, and desire to be in control of what happens in the future.

Grief brings fear.

Fear of never healing, fear of feeling the scary depths of your own personal pain, and fear of not being able to decide what happens next.

Grief brings love.

Deep, deep love for Everett, and for Avery and for Landon, and for what the future might hold for us all.

Grief is a domino effect.

It starts with just one thought, just one memory, and leads to another and another and another, until where I end up is no where near where I started.

I started off coming to work.

Which kicked off missing Everett.

Which kicked off missing babies.

Which kicked off a maternal longing.

Which kicked off fear of never having any more babies.

Which kicked off fear.

I wish I could kick off grief!

Five more hours of work tonight, and I'm trying to but grief and longing and sadness and fear to bed, for now.

For now I want to surrender it all to God, who knows my heart and knows his plans for me. All my worrying and fear will do no good. He knows what's in store for us. He has has influence on our hearts, and he works all things for our good. So I'll trust him with this. My grief and my longing. And put this post to bed.


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