This past week has been awful. The Boston Marathon bombings and subsequent manhunt in the place that will always truly be home to me. Massive explosions and fires in Texas. Earthquakes. The general tumult of the world. I can't even form words that adequately articulate the deep ache in the pit of my stomach. I swear, the world is screaming for relief and my utter inability to soothe the wounds that seem to grow larger each day makes me suck in my breath and lose the capacity to breathe.
Not being able to breathe has been a motif in my life over these past few weeks. I'm still waiting on test results from the OBGYN and losing my breath every time I think about it. Making peace with the idea of going back to work in August, while acknowledging that this job is a reminder each day that I don't have a baby makes me feel winded. Hearing the heartbreaking yet triumphant story of a friend's journey through adoption over yummy salads and gentle pinches of chocolate-skinned baby legs just about knocked the wind out of me. My last breath felt like it was stolen from my lungs when I dreamed of my babies again.
One of the things I believe in so profoundly and deeply that it roots me to the very earth is the power of divine inspiration. There are times in our lives when we can feel the precious powers of heaven descend upon us to provide inspiration, comfort, guidance and healing. I have a deep testimony of the power of God to communicate with His beloved children and help them to understand and accept the challenges and opportunities of their lives. I have had those experiences personally, and one of them has been tied to the children that I know will someday be mine.
I think this is one of the reasons that infertility has been so difficult for me. Because I know who my children will be. Nearly two years ago, I sat in a beautiful room, a room filled with the Spirit of the Lord, communing with my Heavenly Father, thanking Him and praising Him, and I knew in my heart with the deepest of conviction who my children would be. I know this probably sounds completely crazy and that I need a one-way ticket to the nuthouse, but I have never been so sure of anything in my entire life. I know their names, their genders, and what they will look like. In this amazingly pure and inspired moment in my life, I felt my deep, eternal love for them, a love unlike anything else. I haven't met them, but I know them, and I love them fiercely and wonderfully. And waiting for them is literally taking my breath from me. I want them to come into this world, and to hold them tightly to me while I tell them about the uncle and great-great grandmother that they will be named for. I want them to grow up knowing that they were wanted with a desire unlike anything else that I have ever experienced. I want to take my babies in my arms and be with them every moment of every day, wiping noses, cleaning messes, kissing cheeks, and inhaling the scent of their divine little souls. I know who they are.
Yesterday I doubled over from not being able to breathe. I sat in church and watched newborn babies all around me snuggle and burrow into their beautiful mothers. I watched toddlers giggle and make a general ruckus and be caught, comforted and loved intensely by their wonderful fathers. I watched older children sink into their parents gentle embraces and share a deep bond of heavenly love that seemed to fly in the face of their adolescent independence. And my arms felt so very empty.
Last night, I dreamed of them. Of what it will feel like to hold them for the first time. To nourish them with life and love from the very first moment of their creation. To smooth their hair back when they are sick or hurt. To bandage a scraped knee when they fall down. To lift them back up again. I dreamed of what it will feel like to watch them go to school for the first time. I caught a glimpse of the deep and unshakable love the Heavenly Father has for each of his children. I want that so intensely. And I cried and cried as it stole what little breath I had left.
I know who my babies are. I know they will come to me somehow, perhaps through me and my husband, perhaps in a more unconventional way. But oh my freaking heck, I can't breathe anymore.
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