I think I could write a book about the last year. Year and a half actually. It started May 20, 2017, or a couple days earlier. On Monday of that week I had a doctor appointment and saw the beating heart of my 16th child. On Thursday, it wasn’t beating anymore. I named the baby Samuel Elias. I had felt the Lord say ‘This one belongs to me.’
Friday night we attended my second son’s graduation rehearsal. I remember smirking about going through the whole thing when we were going to hear it all the next day. Little did I know.
*** TMI warning ***
I’m sure I was spotting before we left the house. By the time my husband and I sat down in our appointed parent row, after carefully arranging our dozen pre-graduating offspring among the graduated kids and all our friends and relations, I was in trouble and I knew it. As the graduates solemnly processed down the aisle, I crawled across several other proud parents, thankful that the bench I had been sitting on was already red. I got to the bathroom and spent the graduation on the toilet trying to figure out how to manage crossing the stage with my husband and giving our son his diploma, and feverishly texting my female peops to try to get someone to come rinse out my skirt and bring me a diaper.
The diaper plus a stack of paper towels and a forgiving skirt got me through the ceremony and to the hospital, or at least to the hospital parking lot. The day ended with an emergency d&c.
There was grief, to be sure, but also the nearness of God and the empathy of so many friends who had walked that road before.
No comments:
Post a Comment