Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Darkness and Light.

Sitting in a hospital with your newborn son, wondering if his fate will be to live or to die, is a sobering experience.   There was so much fear in those days.  Fear that he would die.  Fear that he would live and I wouldn't be a strong enough mother.  Fear of the anger and resentment Miss J would have.  Fear of what would happen in my marriage.  And the deepest fear...what if I just didn't want to do this?   What if I can't love him? The fear of, "Oh crap, what have I gotten myself into and how do I get out of it?"  The accompaniment to the fear was the heaping side of guilt for even allowing such thoughts to enter my head.  And really, who do you share such thoughts with?  What mother wants to openly admit that her mind goes to such deep, dark places?  Darkenss.  It felt a veil of darkness had covered us.

Those days marked the lowest, darkest days of my life.  And of the most joyous.

It was the emergence of M's smile.  He was six weeks old and that beautiful social smile had emerged right on  time.  Just exactly as the "What to Expect: The First Year" had said it should. It was angelic, pure and perfect. M's little body was weak and broken and hurting, but his soul and personality were shining through. It was I who could elicit that smile.  He wasn't just smiling at me...he was smiling for me at a time when I most needed it.  For the first time, I felt a true connection to my son, as though an invisible line had connected our hearts.  A wave of love had washed over me and I wanted nothing more than to see that smile over and over again.  

In those days when I felt I was in an endless ocean of  black despair, that smile was a lighthouse safely guiding me home.

Finally, I could hope for light after darkness.

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