The past week has been very encouraging with Nicole. Lots of texting and a couple of phone conversations. She has said things like "Thank you guys so much for giving him a life that I can't give him right now." It has become clear to me that, in spite of the grandmother's desires, Nicole is very much still planning to choose adoption - whether that actually happens or not, only time will tell.
She texted me last week after her OB appointment to let me know that Timon was an even 6 lbs and that her C-section is scheduled for Wednesday, August 24th at 10:30 a.m.!!! She is planning to go back to school to finish her Senior year of highschool, which is wonderful on many levels. Most immediately, it will give her something to focus on and work toward as she heals emotionally and physically after the birth.
I gave in to hopelessness for about 18 hours last week - I blogged in the midst of that about Jacob's wounded hip. I later realized that I had basically given up hope - I was believing that this was over - that Nicole was walking away. I had started the grieving process over losing Timon before we ever lost him. My sweet friend Lauren encouraged me to keep hoping, to wait expectantly, to believe that he will be in our arms soon. At the time, I remember thinking "I don't have the strength to do that." But that afternoon, Nicole and I texted for a long time (part of me thought we might never hear from her again) and God used that contact with her to show me that this wasn't over, that I needed to stay in it and keep hoping. That there is still no guarantee, as always, but that it wasn't time to grieve. Ever since, I have been in a different place emotionally. In my spirit, I am so much more hopeful.
I don't cry anymore every time Douglas looks at Timon's car seat and says "Mohn's seat" or points to his bed and says "Mohn's bed". But I know I am still very emotionally fragile. I feel peace overall most of the time. But the truth is, I don't know how to live in this dark space where so much is unknown.
In six days, I will have a baby or I will lose a baby. How am I supposed to be in that space? There is no way to adequately prepare for either of those things when the other is such a possibility. So, I feel ill-equipped and unprepared in some ways. The miracle is that with each passing day, I feel stronger and more prepared in my spirit. Not in the tangible ways, but internally.
Over the weekend, we were with some very dear friends in Colorado, and it was such a perfect respite from all that has been going on. Ten of us were together - people who have known me and loved me for over 8 years. One night, as all of us girls were hanging out, I let the emotions come finally, which is something I hadn't done since the scare last week. I bawled. I cried at the possibility of losing Timon. At the thought of telling my baby (Douglas) that his baby brother was never coming home. At the fact that I don't know how to exist in this space right now - what I'm supposed to be doing. That I don't know how to be happy to be where I am today (which that day was in CO with amazing friends), terrified of losing a child, fighting the urge to give up hope and run the other direction and start grieving instead of stay and hope and face the unknown, AND anxious/thrilled/excited to meet our baby boy and to adjust to having an infant in the house again - all at the same time. I don't know how to be all of those things, how to feel all of those things.
My friend Cheryl was encouraging me, telling me how courageous I am to stay in this dark space (where the Father is right there with me). I told her that part of me, the rebellious side, wants to run like hell the other direction. To say "No! I will not stay in this unknown any longer. I am the boss! I give up! I choose hopelessness." And to just crumble and start grieving now over the loss that I am terrified we will experience. I told the girls that if this were for almost anything other than my baby, I would run. As fast as my little feet would carry me. The only thing that keeps me here in this terrifying dark unknown is a mother's love for her baby. And that love is superhuman and totally outside of our own strength. So, I stay. I sit here. I sit in the dark and I wait until we see and we know what will become of our family. I limp along in the darkness.
And I don't mean the darkness is bad darkness, by the way. I know for certain that God is with me here in this darkness. The darkness is the unknown - I cannot see anything here. But I know that I am not alone and that a God who loves me and loves us and never, ever fails is right with me. He is the reason I am still able to breathe. And walk. And hope.
I know there is a lot of emotion just under the surface for me. I know this because it came out with a vengeance with my girlfriends that cool night in Colorado on the deck under the stars. My body is afraid of that emotion - afraid it will be too powerful and that I will never stop crying if I start. And I have a 2-year-old precious son to take care of and a tiny baby named Timon to be waiting for, so ceaseless crying is not a good option right now. But it felt good to un-stop the dam for a few minutes and to let it all out to women who love me and know me and are joining in the beautiful sea of people who are lifting our arms up for us. And after I wailed for a while, I saw a star shooting across the sky just for me.
Life is both/and. Sometimes I feel schizophrenic with all the feelings I have floating around inside of me. I have zero idea how to inhabit all of them - or how to let them inhabit me. But I know that they are all part of this darkness. And this darkness is the road to Timon. It's the wounded hip that is a blessing. No matter what happens, this darkness is love. And this crazy space I am in right now is exactly where Love wants me to be.
So, here I sit. 6 more days, baby.
No comments:
Post a Comment