A Day of Birth

I was asked to be a guest writer for SMITTEN BY. This was my submission:

I remember the exact moment I saw him for the first time. My heart
swelled, tempting to burst, my body immediately reaching towards his;
every breath he took was my own. Eyes fixed to him, daring to memorize
his every feature.

Smitten.

My arms ached as I held him, bidding time to stand still. He stole my
breath away, as I inadequately stumbled for words to reach my lips.
Instead, tears rolled down my cheeks, as my heart whispered.

He’s here. He’s here.

As we took turns holding him, we sang to him in the same way we did to
his brothers as they laid down to sleep; only this time, he would not
be waking in the morning. He was dying. Being over 3 months premature
is never a good way to start life. As the clock ticked, it numbered
his time with us, promising to take his life. While we felt surrounded
by angels and all things celestial, the atmosphere swung delicately to
utter devastation as we left the hospital days later without our son.
There was a tangible, thick agony that guaranteed to suffocate, with a
sentence of my own fatality if we ever got pregnant again.

As shattered fragments of my heart dared to cut deeply in the weeks to
come, everything in me ached. I felt like the gaping whole in my heart
constantly left me gasping for air. I could not comprehend how the
whole world was not mourning for the loss of a little boy; a perfect
little boy that never got to come home. Oh how my arms hurt to hold
him; to see him grow! I would have given anything. It consumed me.

Then my dreams turned on me. As I would sleep, my dreams would be full
of life with little children together. Happy. I would awake with an
aching heart, and dizzy head: there were more children. And happier
hearts! I was still mourning the loss of our son, and holding on
tight; I fought the unrelenting demand to move forward. My body
radiated an unexplainable sorrow, that was now seeping with haunting
expectations for our future. Days were full of trudging through
despair, while inefficiently shaking off all promptings that involved
expanding my little family.

Just living, felt heavy.

I remember one day taking a shower, and just sobbing with an angst
that radiated through my finger tips. I felt so overwhelmed with what
we were facing. Beaten. My mind was begging me to move forward, but my
heart continued to resist. And now I was broken. As I collapsed in a
ball on the shower floor, I needed more than a silent truce between
the two; the constant prodding to move forward fought with the grief I
had coerced to be my constant companion, clouded hope.

I was ready to strike a deal. I became determined to make a decision
that day: either we move on with our life, happy with the two children
we had with us here, or adopt. And it needed to happen today.

Everything changed.

By the end of this day, through experiences that can only be
categorized as divine intervention, the compelling, undying knowledge
that our next child was on his way, and we needed to get ready, could
not be ignored!

This realization prevailed through the months, and sustained me
through a different kind of agony, as we wearily searched for the baby
that was meant for our family. Relying on the sheer power of God to
bring our family together, I knew our next baby was out there. Knew
it. It was as genuine as a swelling, pregnant abdomen, only the
morning sickness and hospital stays were replaced with sleepless
nights praying for the unknown, clinging to my husband during times of
utter defeat, shouting with joy and thankful hearts, stumbling with
difficult choices and more loss, experiencing pure joy and
anticipation, enduring broken promises and self doubt, and living with
the simple hope that we would end up in the spot that was reserved
just for us.

Day dreaming of what our future could be, while not knowing any other
details, my mind would sometimes drift back to our son that left us
too soon. That gut wrenching pain would only come in waves now, which
was welcome compared to the resilient dark cloud that was once so
unrelenting and constant. Sometimes the wave would hover, reminding me
of what we lost, and I would hold on for the ride as it dared to pull
me under. Other times the wave would be more gentle, leaving as
quickly as it came, allowing me to smile, with the knowledge that our
family has an angel looking over us. Each time, instead of drowning, I
could swim.

For one son’s abrupt departure had paved the way for another.

And one day, we got on a plane and flew to Georgia.

I remember the exact moment I saw him for the first time. My heart
swelled, tempting to burst, my body immediately reaching towards his;
every breath he took was my own. Eyes fixed to him, daring to memorize
his every feature.

Smitten.

My arms ached as I held him, bidding time to stand still. He stole my
breath away, as I inadequately stumbled for words to reach my lips.
Instead, tears rolled down my cheeks, as my heart whispered.

He’s here. He’s here.

--------

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE MOST LOVED ONE YEAR OLD.

YOU HAVE CHANGED MY LIFE, MY PRECIOUS, DEAR BOY.

YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE.

Thank you for coming to me.