Milieu of Me

There are times where it chokes me.  The realization I’m not a mother of one…but of three.  When I look around for them.  When I think, wait….feel something missing, and go about my remedial day.
I remember after my nephew died, waking up each day and feeling like, “Oh okay…Hello.” And then realizing my nephew was gone, my family was devastated, and it always hit me like a ton of bricks.  The feeling of physical pain associated with grief is nothing but under reported.  I would swallow the vomit, feel the ache, and move forward.  SLOWLY.  I would medicate.  I would drown.
As I sit here, and think about my babies, I often wonder what were they like.  What kind of spirit did they have?  I think of Gabriel as sweet and mellow, and Ruby as happy and playful.  I think they both had blond curls and blue eyes and chubby little rolls irresistible to the likes of their mother.  Of course they’re beautiful, and charming and just steal the show.  Much like their brother and their cousin.    I wonder if they would have clung to me like Grant does, and if I would drink them in as deeply as I do him.
It sounds weird but there is something absolutely intoxicating about the smell of your child.  It’s something you can’t describe, but love.
I look at Ashlynn and Ben, and wonder what my little Gabriel would be doing now.  What milestones would he have reached this month.  If Grant would kiss and cuddle him like he does them.  I think about what his nursery would’ve looked like, and how much fun I would have had watching him grow.  How much I would have cherished every moment, like I do Grants.
And then I stop and think, but if that were the case, I never could have dreamed of Ruby.  The boy and I never would have laid in bed the night we found out she was there, and talked about what a difference a little girl would make in our lives.  I never would have gotten the glimpse of the boy softening already, as he thought about holding his little girl.  I never would have dreamed the dream.  And isn’t it better to have loved her and lost her to have never loved her at all?
I would be cuddling a one month old baby right now if she would have made it.  I would be swimming in a world of pink, bows, and lacy girly fun.  I would be plotting her dancing, gymnastic, and cheerleading careers, I would be dreaming of her heart.
But not if I hadn’t given Gabriel back.
And I if I hadn’t given Ruby back, I wouldn’t be dreaming right now.  Dreaming of the two little miracles God will be handing us soon.  He promised, through words that I will become pregnant with twins, and while that hasn’t happened yet.  I know it will.
I wouldn’t be marveling at how we’ll be handling twins, what asexual nursery I could put together for the two of them.  Wouldn’t be worrying about loving all three of my babies enough.
In the midst of all the pain, the physical pain I would not know the God I know now.  I wouldn’t seek Him as hard.  I wouldn’t wonder what it all means.  I wouldn’t have learned what I have about my husband.  About his strength, about his heart for his kids.  I wouldn’t know the stories of the others who have walked this road before me.
I wouldn’t have learned that God is God no matter what.  I know that and it’s starting to drop in my heart.
Would I know to cherish Grant?  Would I take for granted the ability to have a baby?  Would I go to the stores and walk through the baby aisles and wonder when my turn would be?  Would I be as excited as I will be, when they lay those babies next to me and say, “Here’s your daughter and your son?”  Would I cry just thinking about the gift of it all?
I don’t have the answers.  Just the pain of wondering.  Just the hurt of hoping.  Just the hope of God.  I lost His hope.  Handed it over and said, “I AM FINISHED WITH YOU WITH THIS.  HOW COULD YOU.  I HATE YOU LET THIS HAPPEN.  WHERE ARE YOU.  WHERE ARE YOU….WHERE ARE YOU…and what do we do now?”
My heart catches thinking about that.  Just like Sarah laughed at God and planned her own way.  I did the same thing.  I still do.  I’m not perfect.  Neither was Peter.  Now he’s the disciple crucified upside down, because the death of the Savior wasn’t fit for him.
My hope now is that I can ride the rest of the journey.  I can love God and know He loves me.  I hope I can feel His presence and love.  I’m not there yet.  I still  ache and wonder a lot of days.  But when I see Him.
I dance.  The dance of the redeemed.  The dance of giving my children and better life than I could.  The dance of hope, and joy, and love.
And my soul becomes still and silent.  I want that all the time.  The darkness comes but JOY comes with the morning.  And my mourning brings joy.
Thank you God for my babies.  Thank you for giving me the dream.  And thank you for your promise to fufill it, and doubly bless me.  Thank you for Gideon and Gracie.