Maybe it's a lack of sleep, or post-pardom feelings, or my true emotions catching up to me, or perhaps a mix of all three, but waking up biting my lip trying to hold back tears is never a good thing. It definitely doesn't help when a whole parade of doctors stop outside your door, and while looking at your child's monitor throw words around like "infection", "lung secretion" and "heart failure".
I have had my moments, but I have never had a moment like this before. My body went limp as my heart dropped to my feet. I have never doubted God, I have never doubted His plan, and I never will. However, in this moment my sunken heart ached with such deep sorrow. I love Vivian. That actually doesn't begin to describe how I feel about her. Everything about her is perfect and wonderfully made. But the thought of having a "normal" baby seemed pretty great right about then.
Sad, sadness are words we use to describe less than perfect situations when our feelings get hurt, or we watch someone be mean to someone else, or someone steals your clothes out of the dryer (true story) but "sadness" is no where in the vicinity of what was happening to my heart. Sorrow is a word I stayed away from...it always sounded so old and so serious. But sorrow was exactly what my heart felt. A deep pulsing throb that began from my heart in my feet and slowly reverberated throughout my entire body. The only thing I could do was cry. Not a hopeless cry, not a doubting cry, a deep pained sorrowing cry. Watching Vivian suffer is...there isn't a word to describe it. The worst part is--I can't do anything. I can't hold her, I can't take it away, I can't put a band-aid on it, kiss it and know it will go away. This is my life. This is our life. It's not going away.
I escaped to the chapel for a few minutes, and kneeling before the tabernacle I wept. I wept for Viv, I wept for our family, I wept for the families in our Pod who are suffering in ways I can't imagine. Grayson passed away the Wed. night. A new baby boy came out from surgery, but he isn't responding well. In the scope of the sorrow around me, there are others suffering so much deeper than I am. I get to see my baby. I can touch her. When she opens her eyeballs, she responds to sounds. I felt Christ lift my heavy heart and place it back in my chest. He took all my pain, the depth of my sorrow and reminded me that He will hold the burden for me, if I only surrender it to Him on the cross. Once again, my heart filled with peace--God is here. Here in my joy and always so close in my sorrow.