Today is the Day- 2012

 

As I sit here, awake in these wee hours of the morning, I am reminded of where I was at this time three years ago.  I remember waking up a little after midnight with what I was pretty sure were actually contractions and wondering if this would be the day I'd meet my son.  

I remember timing my contractions in our dark, quiet room while my husband slept.  I remember having to wake him up a few times because in his sleepy fog, he didn't quite grasp that my contractions were already only three minutes apart.  I remember my husband having to wake our new neighbors at almost 3:00 in the morning to ask if they could stay with Kiddo.  

I've mostly forgotten the drive to the hospital, but I remember entering the hospital with fairly intense contractions that just kept getting closer and closer together.  I remember being wheeled upstairs to the maternity ward, having to answer lots of questions in one room (and hadn't I pre-registered? So, why all the questions?) and then being told I still had to walk down the hall to my actual room.  I remember thinking that was just plain crazy, if not a little bit mean.  I remember deciding to stick with my choice to not have an epidural, but then asking for just a little nubain for the pain.  I remember that it didn't seem to help, but that suddenly my eyes wouldn't stay open-- not that I was falling asleep (that would have been impossible), but that my eyelids just kept closing no matter how hard I tried to open them and wondering if that was some weirdo kind of side effect.  

I remember being so glad that the incredibly kind midwife I'd seen at the very end of my pregnancy would be the one helping me deliver, and not the condescending doctor I'd seen earlier, or someone I'd never met.  I remember the nurses telling me to push and thinking that I just couldn't.  It was too difficult, I was too tired-- and yet, somehow, I did.  

  And then, oh then, I met the sweetest angel I've ever known.  He was plump and sweet and perfect, and we were so grateful, so very, very grateful. We couldn't have known then how short a time we'd have with this darling boy, or how awfully our hearts would break less than eight months later.

 

I have a friend whose son died at nearly six weeks old, about a year before Isaac passed away.  I remember reading a friend's posting on her blog that said, "The only thing worse than losing him would be never having had him at all."  When I first read that, Isaac was still with me and I didn't understand what she meant.  Now I do.  With all the pain and grief and sorrow that we've felt in these last two and a half years, it doesn't diminish the joy we felt to have Isaac in our lives.  As horrible as it has been to lose him, I would never want to know a life without those happy, beautiful months with the sweetest baby you could ever meet.  And we cling tightly to the hope that the joy we felt then will be nothing compared to the happiness we'll feel when, after this life, we can be with him again-- forever.

Today is a hard day.  I can't help but sob as I type these words.  I MISS HIM.  There is nothing like the ache of missing your child.  It is the deepest pain you can imagine.  I think of what he would be like at three, that he'd be talking and running and making us laugh.  I wonder if he'd look like Kiddo.  He was a go-getter of a baby, who seemed to do everything early and didn't seem to fear anything.  I imagined he'd be an athlete, but he was already trying to talk so I sensed that he was also going to be very intelligent.  And he was just happy, mellow, and peaceful.  Would he have stayed that way as a toddler?  Would he have liked the things his brother liked?  Would he be reading at the same amazingly early age?  I don't know, and the wondering hurts.

But today is also a glorious day.  It is the day my angel was born.  It was the day he brought brightness and hope into our lives.  And so, today we will once again celebrate his life.  We will honor him with kindness and service.   We will try to make him proud.  We imagine him looking on from heaven and smiling his incredible smile as he sees the good deeds done in his memory.  

  

Once again, many of our friends and family have pledged to do the same.  I hope you are one of them.  It's quite simple, really.  Just go out of your way to make someone else's day brighter.  Write a letter.  Forgive someone.  Share a treat.  Give someone a ride.  Mow someone else's lawn.  Visit someone who is sick or elderly.  Recycle.  Plant a tree.  Apologize to someone you've hurt.  Call your mother.  Say thank you.  Offer to babysit for free.  Share your talents.  Pick up litter.  Go to Church/the Temple/synagogue/mosque.  Decide not to argue with someone.  Give a book to a child.  Give hugs.  Donate to a charity.  And hold your children close.  Tell them how much you love them and how glad you are they're yours.

 And think of Isaac, because today is the day.

***If you would like to make a donation in Isaac's memory, there are many, many organizations we love like Heifer International, LDS Humanitatian Services, The Ronald McDonald House, and others which are linked on the sidebar-- and, of course, there's always your local library.  In particular this year, we support The Cure Starts Now http://csn.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&eventID=605&participantID=1106  in honor of Oliver Palmer.  Also, our dear friends, Tara & Aaron are  building a LIBRARY in LESOTHO!!