When Kai was in the hospital I spent hours by his side staring at the decorative border adorning the NICU walls. I wondered who designed it, why they chose the animals they did, and how many people were in on the decision to print it, sell it, and hang it in this NICU and how long it had hung on those walls.  I wonder if the hours contemplating the mysteries of wallpaper was my own way of trying to make sense of my thoughts during a time when I could control so very little.  I haven't thought about the border since we left that NICU.

Kai and I made a spontaneous visit to some of our nurses yesterday and it was so healing to hold my squirmy two and a half year old wide-eyed little boy in the room that held so many scary, painful, frustrating and heart wrenching moments for me. Sure, there were good memories and victories too, but it almost feels like some of those painful moments were contained in that space and walking back in there felt like walking back in time.

Little man noticed everything in the room and after he lunged for every light switch, knob and handle in his range, he noticed the border. In his own little toddler language he started listing off the animals "fish. elephant. alligator. butterfly. lion. roar." We all chatted and laughed about funny moments and his sweet nurses oohhed and ahhhed over every adorable thing he did. It was such a sweet time. And on a side note, nurses are just really amazing humans. These three women and many others cared for and loved on our little boy when he couldn't do a thing in the world for them. They knew him, fought for him and saved this baby boy's life on multiple occasions; and they encouraged me and held my hand through many dark and difficult days too. There are just not enough thank you's, but I am humbled and grateful that we got to visit them and brighten their day. 

On the drive home I was taken with how incredibly healing it was to have him there on the other side. How healing to hold him and laugh at the days gone by, to hear him say those animal names out loud and see these precious nurses. When he was in the hospital I had a really hard time believing that he would be healthy one day, and here we were, experiencing a moment that was even better than anything I could have imagined. Kai's name means "victory and "God's messenger" and there's no other name that would fit him better!

This impromptu visit was just another piece of the healing that the Lord is doing in my heart and I am looking forward to the ways that He will continue to use our story!

8/11/18 *Edited

Some days the reminders still take my breath away. Searching for a specific item I misplaced, I opened a little box of baby mementos. I wasn't ready to see the tiny hand and foot prints that sat at the top of the box. My baby boy was so very tiny. His hands were barely over an inch long when he was born and his tiny footprint looked like it belongs to a doll. I picked up his micro-preemie diaper and it fit in the palm of my hand. It was big on him.

I look at his bright and inquisitive eyes, his little boy hands and growing feet and still cannot believe that he came in such a tiny, fragile package. But he was so strong. He's still so strong. 

12/20/17 *Edited

You know how there are days from your past that feel as fresh as the day they happened? Days that feel so big and heavy, and you can almost feel the weight all over again? Today is that kind of day for me. Two years ago I was 21 weeks pregnant and. A week before I had gone in for a routine sonogram to find out the sex of the baby when we discovered that there could be some complications. I had a strange feeling that I couldn't shake off so I called my doctor to check in. The next thing I knew I was looking at an ultrasound of my tiny little baby boy, watching my body trying to labor right there on the screen. It was so surreal to see the image of the pressure I was feeling.  The next thing I remember was my doctor saying "You're going to have to go to the hospital right now and you will be there on bed rest until this baby comes. We're going to do everything we can."  I lost it. For many of you, it's not at all shocking that I would cry in a moment like this. This was a deep, heart-wrenching cry of fear, shock, uncertainty and loss of control.

I couldn't stop crying that night or for the days to come. I felt so helpless for my baby, I felt guilty for dropping my counseling clients, I felt lonely and sad knowing that I would spend many days alone in a hospital and would likely celebrate Christmas and welcome the new year at a 40 degree angle. I didn't know what was ahead and fear was persistent.

Looking back is surreal, but I thank God for the journey and pray that He'll use our story for His good.