Last time this happened, I saw it coming.
There was the hesitancy of the birth mom, the reminders from our case worker, the persistent nagging in my spirit. I lived in a heightened state of catastrophic expectation. Because I want this so bad, I thought, God will surely take it away from me.
We were a little over a month away from the due date when the rug got swept from beneath us.
This time? I'm just in shock. There was no moment of clarity of ohmigosh I don't want this child or this isn't right or she may decide to keep him. I never questioned. I felt a peace similar to that of my wedding day: calm, collected, anxious, excited.
We got home on Saturday night after hearing from the mother and we immediately stuffed every baby related thing into the closet-made nursery-made closet again.
Russ pulled the swing and stroller from the living room. I pulled the bottles from the cupboard. And as I clutched the overalls hanging in the closet and the onesie I set aside for our first night home with him, I felt my heart break a little more.
I fought from sweeping everything off the dresser in one violent motion and really, the only reason I didn't was because I didn't want to pick any of it up once it fell. It was just too much emotion inside—too much anger and sorrow and confusion and bitterness. And the whole time, the whole evening, I kept thinking He gives good gifts. He gives good gifts. And well, that was just like the icing on the cake, really. The worst possible broken record playing through my mind.
This? It's good? Well. I'd like to disagree, thankyouverymuch.
I don't understand why this had to happen. Twice. I don't understand why in every way this was directly opposite from our first match in the fall and it still produced the same product: heartbreak.
But I do know this:
We made it through those first moments when we thought we'd get a daughter, and we'll make it through these first moments when we thought we'd have a son.
Right now, we're angry. We're hurt. We're frustrated that yet again we're back on the waiting list. And I'm praying-and-trying-to-believe-but-not-doing-a-very-good-job at hoping that this time, the wait won't be months.
On Saturday, my dad told me that we just needed to worry about the very next step. Nothing more. So now, our next step is praying and believing in a miracle. Somehow, somewhere, it'll happen.
It's worth noting - we have been over.whelmed. with the outpouring of love from our friends and community. To those who've prayed, texted, emailed, dropped by, wept, cussed, interceded, questioned and loved on our behalf - thank you. Your words of life and willingness to sit with us in this grief has been balm to our souls. We love you.