My head is full of so many thoughts today. We met with the palliative care team that has been helping us through this whole process. They’ve known George since my 25 week ultrasound. They followed my chart, had multiple meetings with us to just hear how we are, tracked down any additional information we may have felt was necessary to our process, and walked us through step-by-step what to expect of each part of this journey; including what would happen if the worst happened. 

When the worst actually happened, they were my first call. I just literally cried on the phone with one of the team members. She very graciously let me cry and then gave me some things to think about and do as we started the process of saying good bye to our son. When we sat down today in their meeting room, the first thing they asked was how we are doing, but its the second thing they asked that makes this team so particularly wonderful. They asked if we would be willing to share George’s story with them. OF COURSE! I will always, with so muchenthusiasm, share George’s story. I may cry my way through it (like I did today), but I am so in love with my son, that just like any other proud parent, I will gush with joy if asked about him and his life. It was too short. It was full of pain and medical interventions. It was also so amazing. As I sat at that meeting table, I cried a lot, but I shared George Mason’s last earthly story. It honestly brings so much joy to know that other people want to know about that precious life of his. Tears or no tears, I hope people ask me to share his story for the rest of my life. 

The rest of my life is the hardest part of all of this. My son is in heaven with his Savior. He’s not experiencing any pain. He’s not being stung by loss. He’s singing Holy, Holy, Holy alongside the angels, glorifying his great God with every fiber of his being. But I’m still here on earth. I’m in the middle of whatever my life story is. The rest of my life is what pains me the most. I will never understand why this happened, and I have the rest of my life to remember it. I will never be able to hold my son again, but I have the rest of my life to wish I could. I won’t see him grow up and be able to cherish those memories, but I have the rest of my life to think about that loss. I will never be able to introduce him to his future siblings and I have the rest of my life to face that reality. 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you.” - Jeremiah 29: 11-14

I’m so thankful on the days that seem weighted down by my gloomy outlook on life that God shows me there is a future. He knows the final outcome in all of this. He knows that I have the rest of my life and He’s going to give me hope for that overwhelming thought. He also promises that I will find him when I call, because especially on my worst days, I’m going to want to call. Its probably not often enough in my prayers, but today I’m going to be mindful and intentional of seeking him with all my heart. Because on the most emotional of days, I need that comfort of my savior. I may not be in heaven singing Holy, Holy, Holy, but I can certainly glorify my great God, alongside my son, in whatever pathetic way my humanity allows today and every day. So, thank you Lord for your comforting Word. Thank you for meeting me where I am and letting me see that there is HOPE and a future. Thank you for the grace that allows me to know that your scriptures are true. And thank you for instilling in me a desire for you; that I might dig deeper, cling tighter, and find comfort in all that you are. Because you are great and good, and the most loving Father.