Somehow, I really don't know how, I decided when I was pregnant that if we could manage to get four months, four whole months with Aaron, I would be content, happy. That seemed like such an unreachable goal, and it would be enough, if we could only have four months.
I was wrong, so very wrong. It can never be "enough." I remember when my dad asked me, just before Aaron was trached if I would ever be ready to let him go. I quickly said, "no, I wouldn't." He gently remarked that it was good to know that.
It's Christmastime. Our eighth. Such an abundance of time, yet not nearly enough. Last Sunday I sang in our community choir. The theme this year was "The Prince of Peace." I was grateful to be able to get through the songs, mostly. The closing hymn was "Silent Night" with the second and third verses sung by the congregation a capella. By the end, there were tears running down my cheeks.
Last week, a woman I've been in contact with delivered her T13 son, and buried him on yesterday. Saturday another friend's daughter here gained her angel wings, and yet a third child went Home last night. And it was the angelversary (1 year) of another little girl that I was very close to. Each one of these rips at my heart. I know the moms. They now belong to an exclusive club that no one wants to join, and yet I will, and so will many others.
To be privledged to sing of the Savior's birth, of all that that means... Well, I am so, so grateful for Father's gift to us. A line from "Good Christian Men, Rejoice!" kept (and keeps) running through my mind. "Now ye need not fear the grave, Jesus Christ was born to save! Calls you one and calls you all to gain His everlasting hall! Christ was born to save, Christ was born to save."