Some days, facebook memories are hard. So hard in fact, I have gone in and blocked most of the posts from the weeks leading up to my moms death. It was hard enough to face once, let alone every year. February 10th is coming. I know there will be lots of memories from the last weeks I carried George Mason. We had such intense hope in the midst of the chaos and unknowns we were facing. We pleaded with God to save our son; he had already gotten us so close to that long anticipated and desired miracle of life. I don’t remember exactly how many times we publicly asked for our prayer warriors to join us, but I know it felt constant.
Today a happy memory popped up. One of Audrey Nole - eating. That child LOVED to eat. Anything. Everything. If it was edible, she ate it. And wore it. And so today, a sweet little reminder of her infant year came across my newsfeed. The delight in her face and the food in her hair were such a fitting reminder that parenthood is equal and simultaneous parts elation and frustration. We were so thankful to have a good, no, incredible eater. It was one of the few things that went smoothly in Audrey’s first year of life. But it meant daily baths and lots of clean up. Lots and lots of clean up. Elation and frustration. What made our lives slightly easier in having a baby who loved to eat, also made our lives slightly more busy as we had to basically bathe our child and our kitchen after every meal. Nonetheless, that darling little picture collage of Audrey enjoying her full plate of deconstructed taco (deconstructed only because she tore it apart) sparked a genuine and precious moment of joyful remembrance.
It also tugged at my heart and pulled, albeit gently, on the scar that holds it together. I won’t ever get those newsfeed moments with George Mason. Instead of sweet reminiscing over food in his hair, I get to prepare my heart for those pleas of life that will inevitably show up. The hopeful desperation as we waited to see what George’s life would look like after his birth. It’s helpful in a way to be reminded of those days. It brings back the emotions of that season but also a hindsight perspective of gratitude. Our sweet boy wasn’t supposed to be born alive, yet alone at full term. All of the medical opinions, and there were plenty of them, seemed to be in agreement that his Swiss cheese body parts weren’t going to be able to sustain life into the third trimester. Adam and I were facing stillbirth. But God did it again. He sustained the life of that little boy. Defying the odds and giving his parents the hope they needed to survive each passing day.
If it weren’t for those public moments of sharing the depths of our emotions, I might not remember those days. That season. I have much to be grateful for and also much to mourn.
February 1, 2017
We have been praying hard for this little boy to survive this pregnancy and be large enough to accept treatment for his kidneys. So far, God has given us a miracle and George Mason is 36.5 weeks gestation and set for delivery at 38 weeks. What an incredible testament to our Great Physician! We are continuing to ask boldly for God to be greater than our imaginations and for this sweet little boy to come out kicking and screaming with lung capacity abundant!
Please continue with us as we close out the first chapter of our son's life and pray him through to the end of this pregnancy. Pray specifically for those little lungs and that he will be able to breathe. We know it's going to be a long, hard road of doctors and treatments once he's born, but those precious first moments and breaths are going to be the foundation for his entire ability to keep fighting and moving on to the next chapter: George Mason takes on the NICU.
George Mason’s second chapter wasn’t nearly as long as we had hoped but his first chapter was so much longer than we expected. It seems that each detail of his story turns out that way. There’s something good to be thankful for and it is balanced out with a disappointment or a reminder of this broken world. I guess that in itself is something for which to be eternally grateful. Before this suffering, I knew the world was broken but I was mostly happy and comfortable in my little section of it. Heaven was a great place to head to when I died, but earth was pretty darn good in the meantime. Since losing our son (and really since losing my mama), my perspective has changed; and I think for the better. God made this earth and so yes, it can be pretty wonderful. But Heaven isn’t a celebration or after party. Heaven is the goal. This time on earth is just the opening act - an act where we are tasked to live our Gods story and share His gospel. I never understood what it meant to long for heaven. Now I do. And I totally do. This life is good. Sometimes it’s even great. But it will always be flawed and broken. Heaven isn’t broken. There is no loss. No sorrow. No pain. Just perfectly restored bodies and eternal dwelling in Jesus.