Mother's Day

The last few days have been full of some tough memories. Not really because of mother's day, since we celebrate a different day in Bolivia, so I wasn't really even aware until I started noticing posts on facebook. Instead, I have a very dear friend in town that I haven't seen for 2 years and we took her and her family over to our land where Zion is buried to show them his grave. She had brought a rock from her home to place on the special spot and then we spent some time talking about the events of his death and the days following. It was as if we were reliving those days together, crying together, grieving together- something we couldn't do when it was all happening but somehow came naturally at that moment. It was a special time to share together, but left me feeling heavy that evening and so much more aware than I have been for a long time how much I miss my little boy and how hard it is to deal with disappointed dreams. I woke up today, 6 months exactly after Zion died, still feeling the weight of sadness that can consume everything else in life. Thankfully, the depth of those hard emotions don't last as long as they used to, and I began feeling better after spending some time playing with Natty and hanging out with Scotty. I was nervous about the plans we had later this morning to go back to the clinic where I was on bed rest to pick up my medical history. I knew seeing that place for the first time since I left- a place where I had prayed and hoped for the life of my child, where I felt sure that I could keep him inside for long enough, and where I also experienced a tremendous amount of fear- would be hard. So, with Natty and Scotty along for moral support, we entered into the quiet clinic and searched around for someone to help us. The place is small and not busy because of the nature of the business (plastic surgery), so Scotty had to wander down a hall to find a nurse. Just the nurse, it happens, that took such good care of me and encouraged me that all would turn out all right in the end. I even told her I'd come back one day with my little boy and show him off to her. But, it turns out that I returned empty handed and had to see that look again that so many people have shown me when I answer their question of, "how is the baby??" with a shake of my head and an explanation that he didn't survive. Then I saw the doctor that took care of me, and even the girl who brought me food. They were all there and it felt like I had been wheeled out only yesterday. Scotty and Natty went out into the yard to play while I waited inside for them to find my records. I contemplated all that has happened since then and was thankful for the peace that has replaced most of the anger, the fear, the hurt and the confusion. Those feelings still come from time to time, but the deep faith that God has given me through the journey outweighed what I knew to be the natural reactions of a sad mommy. I know God is with us, I know He loves us, I know He loves my son and my family, I know He was in it all. I don't feel the need to ask "why?" anymore, even though I never got a clear answer. At least I can see more clearly now the gift God has given me in the pain- an ability to trust Him more, a recognition of how desperately I need to cling to Him alone, an understanding that my life is in His hands and out of my control.