The night she was born was so dark. There was a blizzard, it was freezing, and visibility was low. Dan drove home from three job interviews and took our son to the instacare for an ear infection before taking me in labor to the hospital… I remember everything about that night in vivid detail. I remember the blinding lights of the delivery room illuminating my baby and our new reality… I remember the shocking silence of the doctor, nurses, and staff. Silence that smothered me; magnified all my fears. I remember the scary word: “oxygen,” and strangers taking her away to the NICU and leading me to my room alone. To “recover.” In the dark.
Mothers aren’t supposed to be without their babies—it was an agonizing severing and abandonment to the deepest, loneliest, most desperate and terrifying darkness. There was a stupid, scratchy green blanket on the bed that I wrestled with all night long. It refused to yield even the least bit of comfort no matter how many tears I poured into it. It went like this for hours: Darkness, tears, breaking, and pain. And then…
They say that when trauma hits a couple, each individual processes it in their own way and at their own speed. I can verify that as fact. And I thank God every day that, although we were both broken, Dan (perhaps because he wasn’t also swimming in birth hormones) was the first to find his feet. In the very early morning after mourning, he came to me, wrapped his arms around me, and with tears covering both of us, said these sacred words that changed my life and my perspective forever, “This is our family, now.”
My forever love, in those words & moment I heard him say: “I will not leave you. We will see this through.” That promise, hope, and dedication split the dark wide open and gave me the call to action I needed. 🔥 I still ached, but after that, I started showing up. And after that, the light began to win. Oh, how it won. ✨ #misslydiefaith #theluckyfew
