My reaction to a few of the responses was immediate guilt. I confessed to Brandon that I felt guilty for even writing any of our story down because we could have had it so much worse. Memories of my friends who lost precious babies flashed through my mind. I thought of one friend who said goodbye to her sweet mama this year and my problems immediately shrank. My mind drifted to those that I know who are battling cancer - who are weak and tired and sick from chemo and radiation and surgery.
A friend of mine sent me a message and told me this:
It's hard to bring yourself to a place of such faithfulness that you can be thankful that things aren't worse, instead of wishing they were better. There's a big difference between the two!
That struck such a chord with me and I hope she doesn't mind me sharing it. I struggled with this before this year... I would find myself wishing things were better (or different) instead of thanking God that things weren't worse. After the year we had, I've found I don't have time to wish things were better, but I've been overwhelmed with praise and thankfulness that we've had the trials we've had, and not worse ones! To my friend who put it so eloquently, thank you!
I think I will silently relive pieces of our year for a long time... how could I not?! The moments I wrote about feel so fresh and real that they could have happened yesterday. I think we're supposed to remember moments like those so we can grow and move forward.
In one short year, I saw my husband both confident in the hard work and long hours he was putting in at work, and weak and begging for help from a post-op hospital bed. Have you ever seen your other half so vulnerable it makes you cry? It is a humbling moment for sure. I wiped salty tears from my cheeks while I watched my tall (dark and handsome too!) sweet husband writhe in that hospital bed, begging me to make it stop. He never spoke above a whisper, but quietly pleaded with me to help him. The wires he was hooked up to led to machines that beeped and hummed with what seemed like the very sounds of his pain. I grieved for I could not make it better.
Parts of our year seem fuzzy around the edges, almost like they were bits of a dream, instead of what we really went through. I think God dulls the sharp edges of the harsh times, so that we can still stomach the memories of them, long after they're over. To be quite honest, I still can hardly believe that I spent several nights pumping breast milk for my baby, and laying on a fold out hospital chair-bed to sleep, inches from my husband's IV pole.
Was that even reality?
It was ours for a brief time, and I can't seem to express my gratitude enough for God's grace to us during the past year.
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