This time, he didn’t bring home flowers. But in his defense, I took the phone call. And I already knew.
This baby was not meant to be.
The first time around, when we conceived our twins, we didn’t “cheat” and take a home test. We faithfully waited until the second of two blood tests and the phone call so that the nurse could tell us the news we’d waited years to hear.
You are pregnant.
Except in our case, it was my husband who took the call and the words he heard were, “She’s pregnant.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take the call. My heart was too fragile. He was stronger.
And so, keeping the news to himself all afternoon {he got the call at lunch}, he stopped by the flower shop on the way home from work.
I knew I was pregnant the moment he walked through the door. I saw the flowers covering his smile. I burst in to tears and fell…literally…to the floor. I hit my knees, literally collapsing from the overwhelming force of joy I felt within.
Finally.
Although, had you seen me, “joy” may not have been the first thought that came to mind. I was a sobbing, blithering, whimpering mess. I could barely stand as he held me up, pulling me back up off my knees, to hug me.
We were pregnant. At last. Thanks be to God. And the doctors. And our family. And our friends. For they had held us up through the trials and the tears and the pleading. And the waiting.
That was three years ago.
This time, there weren’t any flowers.
But there also weren’t as many tears.
This time, when the nurse called and confirmed what I already suspected – ”I’m sorry, sweetie, but you are not pregnant” – I did not fall to the floor.
Instead, I hung up the phone and, as if on cue, the tears came from above. From one of my children. I headed upstairs to find him, awakened from his nap and whimpering in his bed…for me. Across the room, his brother still asleep, at peace.
Perfection.
“Mommy, I just want to snuggle.”
Oh, my heart.
Putting my own emotions on pause, I scooped up my boy, his emotions needing care. Needing comfort. I carried him in my arms, down the stairs to a familiar spot. We nestled down in the rocker, the chair holding me as I held him.
Together, we rocked.
Never before had I been able to absorb the news of a negative pregnancy test as a mother. Comforting my son. Remembering my belly once swollen and grown full with life. Smelling and breathing in the goodness that is his messy bedhead and his warm, soft skin.
Hurt muted by joy. Grief mixed with gratitude.
And while the child in my lap could not replace the child that was absent from my womb, in that moment, as my own silent tears began to fall, he comforted me.
And I was grateful.
Oh friends. . .have you ever experienced this type of grief mixed with an overwhelming sense of gratitude? What are you waiting for? What are presently thankful for?
Holli Long – Joy is the Grace
Holli is a mom, wife and educator, living the grace and the grit of motherhood. . .one word, one photo at a time. Read more here.
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