It was 2002 and I was expecting my first baby. My due date was a few months away. A couple in our young married Sunday school class was also expecting their first. We saw them at church on a Spring Sunday and the wife was glowing. She was just days from her due date and though I didn't know her well, I was excited for her.
Then a few days later, we heard the news: the baby was dead.
From church, this couple had gone to the hospital because the wife hadn't felt the baby move as much as usual. The doctors had discovered then that Baby Boy had died in utero (so close to his due date!!) and our friend had to deliver her precious stillborn son, surely anticipating the agony it would be to never hear his cry.
Weeks later my own labor began. I sat in my bathtub on the morning of July 3, knowing that if these were not real contractions, a warm bath might make them stop. And as I ran the water, I kept thinking of Baby Boy who had died. I thought of my own squirming adorable baby, who I'd only seen by ultrasound but was already in love with, and was suddenly terrified. I kept thinking, "I'm so close to delivery, but what if my baby dies? What if something happens and I don't get to meet this amazing person I've been growing for 9 months?"
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Even if I made it through delivery fine and got to meet a healthy baby, this would still only be the beginning of a lifetime of risk.
From now on, there would never be a guarantee that my child would live. Sure, I lived in a wealthy nation, known for decent healthcare, and I'd be able to give my child as good a chance as any. But beginning the journey of motherhood meant exposing myself to the risk of heartache. I would have to spend the rest of my life with my child (and later 4 more children) in open hands, knowing that ultimately they don't belong to me and I have no control over their hearts or their lives. The depth of my love for Naomi, Josiah, Ethan, Miriam and Selah is fathomless. I can only begin to imagine how heartbroken I would be if one of them died before me.
And so I treasure the moments. The moments of laughter and creativity, of bright intelligence and tender compassion, of shared wonder and new ideas. It's not all pretty, and it's definitely never easy, but they're worth it. I pray for my friends who have lost children, and whose children are struggling, and who wanted children but never had them. This womanhood, this innate desire for motherhood in so many women, is a beautiful difficult gift.
Then a few days later, we heard the news: the baby was dead.
From church, this couple had gone to the hospital because the wife hadn't felt the baby move as much as usual. The doctors had discovered then that Baby Boy had died in utero (so close to his due date!!) and our friend had to deliver her precious stillborn son, surely anticipating the agony it would be to never hear his cry.
Weeks later my own labor began. I sat in my bathtub on the morning of July 3, knowing that if these were not real contractions, a warm bath might make them stop. And as I ran the water, I kept thinking of Baby Boy who had died. I thought of my own squirming adorable baby, who I'd only seen by ultrasound but was already in love with, and was suddenly terrified. I kept thinking, "I'm so close to delivery, but what if my baby dies? What if something happens and I don't get to meet this amazing person I've been growing for 9 months?"
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Even if I made it through delivery fine and got to meet a healthy baby, this would still only be the beginning of a lifetime of risk.
From now on, there would never be a guarantee that my child would live. Sure, I lived in a wealthy nation, known for decent healthcare, and I'd be able to give my child as good a chance as any. But beginning the journey of motherhood meant exposing myself to the risk of heartache. I would have to spend the rest of my life with my child (and later 4 more children) in open hands, knowing that ultimately they don't belong to me and I have no control over their hearts or their lives. The depth of my love for Naomi, Josiah, Ethan, Miriam and Selah is fathomless. I can only begin to imagine how heartbroken I would be if one of them died before me.
And so I treasure the moments. The moments of laughter and creativity, of bright intelligence and tender compassion, of shared wonder and new ideas. It's not all pretty, and it's definitely never easy, but they're worth it. I pray for my friends who have lost children, and whose children are struggling, and who wanted children but never had them. This womanhood, this innate desire for motherhood in so many women, is a beautiful difficult gift.
1 comment:
Beautiful reminder! Thank you!
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