Saturday, September 26, 2009

snuggle time.

They sent her up to the 4th floor. To the people who specialize in ultrasounds. They sent her up to the 4th floor because they thought something wasn’t right.

And something wasn’t right.

That baby inside. That cute, precious baby inside. The one that jumped around on the ultrasound last week. The one she’d told her friends about. The one she’d announced with anticipation. The one she’d bought white onesies for as Target yesterday. The one she’d invested her thoughts in, her dreams in…the one she’d share blood with for the next 9 months & life into the next World.

She would have plenty of time to gather her thoughts. A whole lifetime, actually. And the gathering would start now.

Because from the 4th floor, they sent her down to the third floor.

Where we gave her anxiety medication. And oxygen. And a bed to lay on for the next 28 hours while she birthed that baby.

That baby inside. That cute, precious baby inside. The one whose ultrasound showed anencephaly. The one whose white onsies would still wait at home, package gathering dust. The one who would be buried in its first home just two days later. The one who would be cried over, mourned, & terribly missed.

The one whose 17-week-life was written by the fingertips of God.

The one who makes us ask the hard questions about life & death & reason & God’s love. The one who challenges our faith to accept what the World deems unacceptable.

The one who reminds us that sometimes God writes in snuggle time with us through the most unfortunate of circumstances.

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