False Hope

We had prepared for 17 weeks and two days to say goodbye to our son.  We knew that the end would come, quickly.  When he was born I was so tired, so disoriented, that I didn’t even tell them that he had come until the nurse told me not to push.  I don’t know how many moments passed after he was born until I told her.  Then, I heard his short, quick cry and nothing more.  They handed him to me after Jim had asked the unknowing nurse to move away and not scrub on him.  He was so gray and small and quiet, not moving.  Then, as he pinked up and clearly breathed, opening his eyes, I began to hope that we would have enough time with him that James and Joshua would meet him, too.  I was sad, but I was so hopeful that he would beat the odds against him.  Then, they told me his heart rate had dropped into the 60s, but within just an hour, he had rebounded to the 120s, they were moving us to a post-partum room, and my little man looked so perfect, even with his cleft palate and lip.  I thought, maybe, just maybe, that he would be able to come home, be with us, and live longer than anyone ever hoped.  At 2pm my world shattered.  After almost 9 hours of really thinking he would defy them all, he started being in distress.  My hope was false; my dreams lay mutilated upon my heart.

The false hope was my own fault. I knew, had known for 17 weeks and 2 days, that I was going to say goodbye quickly.  I thought I would do it with glorifying the LORD.  My heart hurts so much and my hope is so destroyed that I don’t see how anything I say, do, think, or feel glorifies Him.  Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t Him.  He hasn’t changed; He hasn’t moved.  He never promised ease or perfection.  He didn’t place that false hope into me.  I did that.  I’m the one who doesn’t know what it means to glorify Him anymore.

And, yet, He is still right here, holding me, loving me, and knowing that His plan is perfect.

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