Each year, this night opens a gate of emotions that have been held back. On this night, I let myself go "there". On my side in the hospital bed, watching the snow fall out my window. The street lamps 5 floors down were just enough to illuminate the soft dropping of snow. Yellow and calm. The monitor doing its job behind me and David laying in the extra bed in front of me. My tears were falling about as fast as the snow outside. Begging Jesus. Please. Please. Please. The room was dark. We were supposed to be resting for what was ahead the next morning. Twice in the middle of the night two different nurses came to my bedside, they must have known I wouldn't be sleeping, they came to hug me because their shift was over and they were going home. Looking back, they must have thought we were we just babies ourselves. Their kindness still overcomes me. That night I tried to imagine the next day, and then I would try to push those thoughts as far as I could. We had been trying to stop labor for days, but tomorrow, we were letting nature take her course.
The difference between that night four years ago, and tonight is this;
Even though I still don't know what tomorrow holds, I know that each day that I have breathed, life has filled me. Even then, the pain, loss and devastation touched me. Yes, it hurt, so bad. And even now my body can ache for what we lost, but through our loss we found so much more. Or maybe, so much more found us.
And tonight I tucked 3 sweet, over sugared little babies in their beds.
Tonight I wished I could time travel back and whisper to my grieving self back then that it will all be beautiful. Not easy, but good. It hurts to remember myself so broken and sad. But I believe I had to learn to see beauty in a new way. I believe I am still learning.