I started praying two days ago. Like...really praying (for me, anyway).
I've mentioned before my struggle to pray these last couple of months. Can you believe it's been nearly two months since Gabriel's diagnosis? I can't.
So, two days ago I sat down. I wrote out my prayers. I wrote out Scripture. And I sat across from a couple of pillows on the couch. Okay, God. I'm here. I don't really want to be here or know what I'm doing. Honestly I feel like a fool looking at these pillows as I pray. But I need you, so here it goes.
I prayed for a good 15 minutes (and yes, that amount of time feels like forever to me). I praised God. I repented. And I begged. I need you to heal Gabriel more than anything. Heal his entire body. Only you can. God, I honored you with Sam's life, and he died. And I will honor you if Gabriel dies...but please don't let it be so. Let me keep him. Let me rock him and kiss him and love him forever until it's my time to leave him. I'm begging you. Let him stay.
I don't know about you, but I bargain with God. I did after Sam died. Lord, if you'd just give me a healthy child, I will never complain about getting up in the middle of the night. I will always be grateful for every moment, and I will never forget the gift you've given me in bringing a baby home.
Ha. ;) I do my fair share of complaining. I'm a normal Mom, with normal feelings. I am particularly grateful (especially now) for 2 healthy babies, yes, but the tantrums are still hard. The emotions are still real. And I do complain. So this time I prayed...God, you know I can't make any promises about Gabriel if he comes home. I'd love to promise to always be patient, kind, and understanding with my children. But we both know I cannot be all of those things all of the time. What I can promise though is that I will do my best. I will love my babies the best way I know how. And I will raise them to know You. To know that their Mommy is flawed. And that you love her anyway. You love ALL of her. Even when she acts crazy. Even when she swears. Even when she throws her grown up tantrums. I will teach them to be genuine. To love others. To be honest. To honor you. That's what I can do, and that's what I will do.
I ended with, Well, God, this has been weird. I know you're listening but I still feel like I chatted up a pillow. And as weird as it feels, I know this will take practice. I'll be back tomorrow.
I sat down and prayed again the next night. Hey God, I'm back...
And then we headed in for our appointment yesterday afternoon. I know full well just because I'm sitting down and praying that I still have no guarantee of it being answered in the way I want it to, but the hope is there. The hope is big, it's huge. And in my very human mind I thought, well maybe this was it, maybe this was the answer, maybe I've 'learned the lesson' and now I will be rewarded.
I know that's not how it works. But I'm certain I'm not alone in these kinds of thoughts and this kind of reasoning.
The technician put the wand on my belly. The fan for the ultrasound machine is deafening in those rooms. "Do you see any fluid, Jamey?" I asked. No, it doesn't look like it, he responds.
Oh. Okay. Still the same. No miracle today. Ugh.
The technician finishes with just a few images and the pediatric cardiologist comes in. I lay on the table for over an hour as she tries to wait Gabriel out, willing him to move a bit so she can get a good look at his heart. She is so sweet. We talk about our kids, and I find out she has two the same age as mine. I tell her we have a desire for Gabriel to be an organ donor if possible, and it would be such wonderful news if his heart was healthy. She scans. And scans. And scans.
And then we get a drawing. I'm taken back to our fetal echo 6 years ago with Sam. Jamey and I both remember that it was a very bright sunny day. We both remember lots of windows in the office. We sat at a round table with my parents as the cardiologist drew a picture of his heart. I kept that picture. Because that was MY baby's heart, and it was perfect.
The drawing this time is a little bit different. Gabriel's heart is more difficult to see, but she suspects a hole between the ventricles. His aorta appears to be shifted, and the pulmonary arteries cannot be seen. His heart is broken too. It cannot be donated.
We hardly cry anymore at these appointments, but the disappointment is heavy. The grief is constant. We have to go back in for another scan in 2 weeks to see if they can get better views. We go home emotionally drained. I try to prepare myself for each of these appointments, to not expect too much, but the hope persists. And as good as it is to hold onto that hope, the sadness is crushing at each and every appointment. We are tired.
We are not okay, but we will be okay. Our upcoming appointments in the next 2 weeks (we have 3) will be draining, but they're necessary and we do feel blessed by the team of doctors we've been surrounded with. Please keep praying for Gabriel's healing first, and then second for our peace and energy. They're carrying us through <3
I've mentioned before my struggle to pray these last couple of months. Can you believe it's been nearly two months since Gabriel's diagnosis? I can't.
So, two days ago I sat down. I wrote out my prayers. I wrote out Scripture. And I sat across from a couple of pillows on the couch. Okay, God. I'm here. I don't really want to be here or know what I'm doing. Honestly I feel like a fool looking at these pillows as I pray. But I need you, so here it goes.
I prayed for a good 15 minutes (and yes, that amount of time feels like forever to me). I praised God. I repented. And I begged. I need you to heal Gabriel more than anything. Heal his entire body. Only you can. God, I honored you with Sam's life, and he died. And I will honor you if Gabriel dies...but please don't let it be so. Let me keep him. Let me rock him and kiss him and love him forever until it's my time to leave him. I'm begging you. Let him stay.
I don't know about you, but I bargain with God. I did after Sam died. Lord, if you'd just give me a healthy child, I will never complain about getting up in the middle of the night. I will always be grateful for every moment, and I will never forget the gift you've given me in bringing a baby home.
Ha. ;) I do my fair share of complaining. I'm a normal Mom, with normal feelings. I am particularly grateful (especially now) for 2 healthy babies, yes, but the tantrums are still hard. The emotions are still real. And I do complain. So this time I prayed...God, you know I can't make any promises about Gabriel if he comes home. I'd love to promise to always be patient, kind, and understanding with my children. But we both know I cannot be all of those things all of the time. What I can promise though is that I will do my best. I will love my babies the best way I know how. And I will raise them to know You. To know that their Mommy is flawed. And that you love her anyway. You love ALL of her. Even when she acts crazy. Even when she swears. Even when she throws her grown up tantrums. I will teach them to be genuine. To love others. To be honest. To honor you. That's what I can do, and that's what I will do.
I ended with, Well, God, this has been weird. I know you're listening but I still feel like I chatted up a pillow. And as weird as it feels, I know this will take practice. I'll be back tomorrow.
I sat down and prayed again the next night. Hey God, I'm back...
And then we headed in for our appointment yesterday afternoon. I know full well just because I'm sitting down and praying that I still have no guarantee of it being answered in the way I want it to, but the hope is there. The hope is big, it's huge. And in my very human mind I thought, well maybe this was it, maybe this was the answer, maybe I've 'learned the lesson' and now I will be rewarded.
I know that's not how it works. But I'm certain I'm not alone in these kinds of thoughts and this kind of reasoning.
The technician put the wand on my belly. The fan for the ultrasound machine is deafening in those rooms. "Do you see any fluid, Jamey?" I asked. No, it doesn't look like it, he responds.
Oh. Okay. Still the same. No miracle today. Ugh.
The technician finishes with just a few images and the pediatric cardiologist comes in. I lay on the table for over an hour as she tries to wait Gabriel out, willing him to move a bit so she can get a good look at his heart. She is so sweet. We talk about our kids, and I find out she has two the same age as mine. I tell her we have a desire for Gabriel to be an organ donor if possible, and it would be such wonderful news if his heart was healthy. She scans. And scans. And scans.
And then we get a drawing. I'm taken back to our fetal echo 6 years ago with Sam. Jamey and I both remember that it was a very bright sunny day. We both remember lots of windows in the office. We sat at a round table with my parents as the cardiologist drew a picture of his heart. I kept that picture. Because that was MY baby's heart, and it was perfect.
The drawing this time is a little bit different. Gabriel's heart is more difficult to see, but she suspects a hole between the ventricles. His aorta appears to be shifted, and the pulmonary arteries cannot be seen. His heart is broken too. It cannot be donated.
We hardly cry anymore at these appointments, but the disappointment is heavy. The grief is constant. We have to go back in for another scan in 2 weeks to see if they can get better views. We go home emotionally drained. I try to prepare myself for each of these appointments, to not expect too much, but the hope persists. And as good as it is to hold onto that hope, the sadness is crushing at each and every appointment. We are tired.
We are not okay, but we will be okay. Our upcoming appointments in the next 2 weeks (we have 3) will be draining, but they're necessary and we do feel blessed by the team of doctors we've been surrounded with. Please keep praying for Gabriel's healing first, and then second for our peace and energy. They're carrying us through <3
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| Gabriel's heart on the left, Sam's on the right. I am in such awe that such tiny broken hearts can beat so strongly. |
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