a late night prayer

It's late for me (10:24pm to be exact, which yes, I know is not "late" for most of the world). Malacai is sleeping in his crib, in his room, for the first time tonight, so I think that has me a bit wired and edgy. One benefit of his moving to his room is an open space for me to think, and so tonight I'm thinking of my daughter.


Her second birthday is in one week. I don't know... I mean, I really don't know how I've lived these past two years. When I have time to reflect, I feel as though I've can step outside of myself and look objectively at my story, and wonder how anyone survives infant loss.

As I laid in bed tonight I told myself, "I just want to remember..." and so I began a mental journey  down the day of her birth. I can easily recall us arriving at the birthing center at 3am, in the beginning of labor pains. I can (hazily) remember how painful labor was, how my mother smiled through it all, how Blair and my sister rubbed my back and told me I was getting close. And I remember the moment where it all changed... and then I don't want to remember it anymore. But what else do I have to recollect about her? All of our life with her is covered by sadness. And so, like a treasure chest, I pull out scene after scene and turn it over in my mind: Salli's expression when she heard no heartbeat, wearing an oxygen mask while they called 9-1-1, running as fast as my swollen feet could take me through the E.R. doors, Blair's shocked face, my shaking hand while I sign papers, calling out "I love you, I love you, I love you," to Blair as they wheel me away, the blue eyes of the anesthesiologist as I go under... waking to a bright room with Blair and Josiah close by, having to ask if my baby was alive... not seeing her, seeing her in a photograph, rushing to see her because her heartbeat had plummeted... not being able to hold her, and scared to touch because of everything connected to her... her stillness, her chubby hands... waiting to know if the Lord will rescue her... I remember these things with perfect clarity.

But I don't know that you want to remember my memories, so I will leave off. But as I search my treasure chest for one bright moment, one beautiful scene untouched by sadness, I find none to satisfy. And all I keep thinking is, "Lord, I want to remember!" but really, Lord, what I want is a vision of her. I want to see what is NOW true: Gwendolyn in glory, Gwendolyn healthy, eyes open, smiling, laughing. Gwendolyn with Jesus, Gwendolyn with Christopher and Nathan and Pop and Papa. I need to see a future hope, Christ. Because all I see when I see her in my mind (and my photos) is my dying baby, wrapped up with cords and wires and turning purple and cold. So I need Your reality to become mine tonight.