Almost two years have passed since that fated day of our youngest child's birth. This time of year, March leading into April, still holds many emotions for me. I am told that the strong emotions from such a tragic event will ease with each passing year but to-date it still feels fresh.
My mind is flooded with the physical pain my body endured two-years ago (the water-balloon in my tummy that held my sick little boy). I remember the contractions, the weight of the fluid, waddling because of the weight, hardly being able to stand. I remember being admitted to the hospital for the first time: prepping my spring quarter classes from the hospital bed and the relief from the jetted bathtub in the room. I remember being discharged after receiving steroid shots for my unborn baby's lungs and the medication that was suppose to stop my heavy contractions. I remember still not knowing what was wrong with my boy.
Laying on the couch back home, coming to terms with that fact that I would most likely deliver a "NICU baby." The worst though, was the re-admission into the hospital...being told I would not leave until my baby was born (and the separation this would cause between me and my other two children). The words, "Your son has some type of birth defect but we just don't know what it is" still burn in my mind. The nurses who would have to "sit cozy" with me for an hour at a time just to get a heart reading on my son and the final decision....the words, "your son has 50/50 percent of survival." Seriously, what do you do with those words? They still effect me today. I won't even go into the emotions of when his cord was cut and his chances of survive dropped to 1% or less...oh, yeah...and the unplanned trip 45-mintues North my son took (with daddy) via ambulance while I had to stay put and the decision to cut open my son's chest at day 5 as a "last ditch effort to save him." I just can't go there right now.
Nothing about that time two years ago was easy. Yes, I now have a healthy, thriving boy, but his birth still haunts me. The moments of being torn between my son in Seattle and our two other 45-min south in our hometown. To this day I question if I "did it right" leaving one child to be with the other two OR leaving the two to be with the one child. We did the best we could do.
I fight the thoughts/fears that I was not "nice" to our friends or appreciative of them. Was I really a bad friend? Was I ungrateful? Did I express my appreciation enough? Ask forgiveness enough? Push people away or expected too much? Keep everyone in the loop enough? A lot of "icky" feelings surround this period of my life...feeling like I failed-- that I just did not do it "right" (whatever that really means).
It has been two years of healing. Up until his 15-month milestone, our boy still required so much of us medically, emotionally and physically. It really has just been in the past 8 months that he has been a "normal" little boy. EIGHT MONTHS! Not very long, actually (for the first time, right now, I did this math...eight months). What a fight it has been. I still struggle losing my baby weight (which I beat myself up for on a daily basis). I struggle to recognize that I truly did the best I could during this season of life (& whether my best was really good enough). I struggle trying to parent three children so close in age with the added task of continuing home physical therapy "games" and activities to help our youngest use his right side (hand & foot) consistently.
Life is hard. I know we all have seasons that are difficult and painful events that happen. This season for just happens to be my trigger. I am thankful the Lord is always with me and that HE speaks truth to my heart and soul. Without Him, I would be completely lost. I thank God almost daily for what he did on April 2 and the days leading up to and the days following. It is a memorial stone for me to reflect back on His grace and mercy in my life...how close I felt to Him during that time and how He spoke so clearly to me on the OR table, "Brandi, I giveth & taketh away. You have to be okay with that, okay?" God's words spoken directly to my heart help me have a new view on the life I live. Thank you Jesus that you are my Healer and with each passing year you heal my soul just a little more. Praise be YOUR name forever. Amen
