The house is still as I open my computer to write, with only the sounds of the heater and Beckham’s light snoring in the next room to break up the silence. The hour after the kids fall asleep is probably the most peaceful time of day in our home. Looking around our house tells the story of the day, with golf balls and little plastic clubs, miscellaneous kitchen utensils, and stuffed animals strewn across the playroom floor. A half-built fort furnished with the day’s favorite books and coloring crayons greets me as I head out of the kids’ room toward the kitchen to finish up the dishes I started earlier. The sounds of laughter and crying, yelling and singing, little footsteps and Trusty’s squeaky walker wheel are still ringing in my ears as I start the nightly tidy. The routine is unchanging as I go through each room of the house to make sure we are set and ready for the following day. Pick up toys here, fold blankets and put the couch back together over there, all before finishing in the kitchen getting fresh juice and milk cups for the morning.
The worries of tomorrow are trying their best to seep into my quiet time as a reminder to call insurance about another prescription denial for Trusty pops up on my phone. We tend to pack the beginning of each new week with as much as possible, from in-home Speech, Occupational, and Physical therapy sessions and follow-up appointments, to running last minute errands before Carl heads out of town for work. But all of that can wait as I throw the last toy in the bin and head in to go check on the babies. Watching to make sure their little chests rise and fall with each breath has been something I’ve been unable to shake since our time in the NICU. No matter how strong and big and healthy they get, I still find myself watching and listening to make sure those precious breaths keep coming. It seems like just a moment ago that Carl and I were glued to their isolettes, watching intently through the clear plastic wall as the ventilator pumped air into their fragile, tiny lungs and praying that one day they’d be able to breathe on their own. I quickly shift my focus back to the present, gently reminding myself that time was nearly three years ago, and God has answered those prayers and countless more to get us to where we are today.
When I decided I was ready to start being more open about our family and some of the things we have faced these past few years, it was in hopes that it may provide some comfort to other families facing similar challenges. Sometimes just knowing there is someone else out there who has some understanding about what you are going through, empathizing when you are in some of your darkest moments is reason enough to keep moving forward.
I also wanted to do this to show some grace and understanding to the scared, sleep-deprived, grief-stricken Mom I was 3 years ago. To let her know that while you are about to face some of the toughest and darkest times of your life, God will be there to pull you through. He will surround you with people to care and love and fight for your babies. He’ll use those around you to help lift you up, find your voice, and build confidence in your ability to care for three fragile and medically complex babies all while honoring your sweet boy who won’t be going home with you. Your babies won’t always be out of reach, tucked safely away in their isolettes. I promise you there will be cuddles and hugs and kisses. You will get to introduce them to your family and friends. You’ll get to show them the mountains and oceans and open their eyes to the incredible world we live in. There will continue to be unknowns, but you focus on fighting the battles of today and remain grateful for the little moments. So please don’t lose hope and keep on praying. I am living in the answered prayers that you prayed.
“And this is the confidence that we have toward him that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him.”1 John 5:14-15.