Saturday, February 23

I walk through the dark hallway of the hospital in my pj's, nighttime quiet. Wondering how this had somehow become normal. My family sleeping in three different places. I open the door to our little room and take a second to deeply breathe in the loveliness of our new daughter, before returning to my pull-out bed, just a few feet away from her. How good it is to be near her.
The day following, I wake up to a sweet son's smiling face, "Breakfast Mommy!" "Wake-up." Groggily I try to convince him to lay next to me so I can sleep a little longer. Fat chance. Fat chance. We all get dressed and go downstairs to get our breakfast. We sit together and eat. I eat heartily of having my daughter, son, and husband, all so close. How good it is to be near them.
He's teaching me to count my blessings. I hear stories of so many others, with loads so much heavier than the one I bear. Child with leukemia, doctors do exploratory surgery, can't figure out why he's so sick, exploratory surgery finds nothing. Babies so small. Premature baby needing open heart surgery. Hearts so big. Tears so deep.
I woke up this morning, groggy, unfocused. Trying to make sense of this world around me. The room is quiet. I sip tea and return to the hospital and hold my daughter. Then I leave to watch Eden and Isaaq bounce and relish in the attention of doting loved ones. I say goodbye to them and return to the hospital to hold my daughter. She eats and falls asleep, reminds me of her big sister who did the same thing, four years ago.
Time seems to be spinning around me. The world around me dizzying. A recent conversation I had with a college sophomore comes to mind, she talked and talked and talked about her month long trip to Switzerland. I said little, and wondered mostly. I thought back to when I was in college, and how much I'd grown since then. How grateful I am now for everyone who put up with me and allowed me to think that I was actually much more interesting than I really was. I loved (!) college, but I wouldn't go back and lose this time that I've gained. I'm so grateful for what I've learned, for the mistakes I've made, the tears I've shed, and for the wisdom and time that remedies in ways that thesis and lectures and exams could never instruct.
So now, I continue in this desperate balancing act, coming to grips that every day, I will drop at least one of the 27 balls I'm trying to juggle because I'm human, not even a terribly talented or interesting one.  The expectations I place on myself are impossible to meet. So I do what I can and pray that Jesus, the ultimate healer and giver and teacher, will fill in those gaps, teaching me what I do not yet know or understand, healing myself and others when I drop the ball, and giving me what I need to make it through the day and giving me a bounty of reasons to be thankful for it.
Miss Atira Gabrielle is now off her nitric oxide and they are slowly weaning her from her oxygen. She also started breastfeeding today. Pray that her echocardiogram on Monday would show continued miraculous improvement. We would love to go home and be all together. Pray also for me, that I would proclaim His goodness and truth, no matter what the echocardiogram shows.