Lately I have been thinking about the various prayers I have prayed over the last year. This time last year, I was (what I now know to be) 13 days away from welcoming precious Jamesie into the world. My prayer was "Lord, please let James decide that today he needs to be born. I am so ready to meet him, and you know that I cannot stand to be pregnant another day!" Or something to that extent.
The day he was born was scary. James was making D-cells and his heart rate dropped from 150 to below 60 bpms with my 5 minute long contractions. When the 20 ish medical people came rushing into the room to run me down the hall for my emergency c-section, my prayer was "Lord, protect my baby. Please just let him come. Please just let him be ok".
As the doctors introduced me to the NICU team that was there just in case, I prayed, "Lord please don't need the NICU team. Please just let him come to me."
And once he was here my prayer was "Thank you Lord. Thank you for a healthy, beautiful baby. He is my perfect blessing."
So my various prayers throughout the middle part of his life focused on his development, his happiness, that I could be a good enough mommy for him. That James and I would be taken care of, that we could get through anything. We had some rough spots over the middle to get through. But I was so thankful for him. He game my life meaning.
When James got sick, my prayers were, "Lord, please make my baby better. Please stop his stomach from hurting. Please let him get over this bug" And when I found out that it wasn't a bug, that it was a tumor, it was "Lord, please give us the absolute best doctors. Give us the best nurses. Please let them get all the tumor. Please don't let it be a rhabdoid". And then it was a rhabdoid.
So then I prayed, "Lord, thank you for allowing the doctors to get most of the tumor. Please let the chemo work. Please, please let the chemo work".
And then we never got to chemo. And so my prayers changed. Instead of "God, please heal my baby", they become "Lord, please take my baby. Don't let him be in pain anymore. Please don't let him suffer any longer than he has to. Please, just don't let him hurt anymore."
Looking back, I can't believe I prayed that. I know that it was the right thing to pray; I still can't fathom it. I can't believe that I was in a place where God receiving my baby was my hope and prayer.
So now my prayer is "Lord, please take care of my baby. Please let someone rock him when he needs to be rocked. Let someone play with him when he wants to play. Let someone love him as much as I love him. Please make sure he knows how much I love him. Please tell him how much he was wanted. And how I so much wish I could be there with him. Just take care of him until I can. Please."
Surely there are special people in Heaven that take care of the babies until their mommies get there, right? (And I know everyone keeps telling me to read Heaven is for real- which I did. And sorry to disappoint everyone but I hated it. No judgment- if it helped you, great.)
Sometimes I think about why some people get miracles and other people don't. And honestly I'm jealous of the people who do get them now. It's not that I don't want them to get their miracles- because I absolutely do- I just wish that James had gotten one too. I wish I had gotten one. I think it's just another part of life that I just have to accept- there doesn't seem to be a reason why or why not.
I didn't struggle with the Why question at first, but it is definitely something I think about alot more now. It was so easy at first to just say that sometimes things just happen and you have to accept them. But accepting them is so hard.
It almost seems harder now than it was during those days at the hospital. I think at the hospital I still had hope, I still had a purpose. Now, I feel purposeless. And when James was in so much pain, it was, in a way, easier to accept that he was going to go be with Jesus and he wasn't going to hurt anymore. I don't feel like I even had time to think about what life would be like without him here. What that would look like. What that would mean.
And so now I can look back and doubt every decision. At times I can block out the pain he was in, and just remember when he would laugh or smile at something funny. Or play the "Let's put my hand in Mommy's mouth" game. Or sing Baby Legs or one of our silly sound songs that we made up. And then it all seems so very cruel.
So I think the only thing I can hope now is that God is taking care of my baby. Surely, out of all my prayers, that will be the one he will choose to answer, right?