I've been searching for the opportunity to write. Because not only did I have to wait for the time I also had to wait for the strength. I'm not even completely sure if I have the strength yet. But this urge has been burning me to my core.
Some days are easy. Well not really. Some phases in time are easy. Like last night when we went to down town
Wilmington to clear our minds. That was easy. It was enjoyable. James actually forgot for a second that his father and his sisters have pretty much completely disowned him for what ever screwed up reason. I actually could bare the fact that my son is still in NICU three weeks later. We walked hand in hand, happy and in love as could be into a beautifully lit square. The lights in the trees lit up the empty fountain that we pranced around (and on). They gave light to the two homeless men talking casually to each other on the benches. It was just so wonderful.
Then we startedour return driveto the hospital and reality slowly sank back in. James' face got cold and his eyes glazed over "I just wanted him to be loved by everyone." Those words broke my heart. As ifJulius being in the hospital isn't tearing us apart as it is. I looked at James with I'm sure a disgustingly sad face and said "I know baby. Me too."
Maybe we feel like all the love in the world will bring him home faster? Like the more love, and the more prayers, the faster my baby will be out of the hospital. Because God answers prayers. It's been three weeks and I'm still shaking while I wait for him to answer mine. In due time I suppose.
I wonder if I'm too weak to pray hard enough.
I'm always saying to myself "I can't wait for my baby to be out of the hospital." Or I have to tell someone "My baby is in the hospital." Those words have a strange affect on me. James has always been my baby. And now when I say baby, I mean
baby. Like a human baby that I gave birth to. And... he's in the hospital. It just doesn't make sense to me sometimes.
Some days are easy. Well not really. Some phases in time are easy. Like last night when we went to down town
Wilmington to clear our minds. That was easy. It was enjoyable. James actually forgot for a second that his father and his sisters have pretty much completely disowned him for what ever screwed up reason. I actually could bare the fact that my son is still in NICU three weeks later. We walked hand in hand, happy and in love as could be into a beautifully lit square. The lights in the trees lit up the empty fountain that we pranced around (and on). They gave light to the two homeless men talking casually to each other on the benches. It was just so wonderful.
Then we startedour return driveto the hospital and reality slowly sank back in. James' face got cold and his eyes glazed over "I just wanted him to be loved by everyone." Those words broke my heart. As ifJulius being in the hospital isn't tearing us apart as it is. I looked at James with I'm sure a disgustingly sad face and said "I know baby. Me too."
Maybe we feel like all the love in the world will bring him home faster? Like the more love, and the more prayers, the faster my baby will be out of the hospital. Because God answers prayers. It's been three weeks and I'm still shaking while I wait for him to answer mine. In due time I suppose.
I wonder if I'm too weak to pray hard enough.
I'm always saying to myself "I can't wait for my baby to be out of the hospital." Or I have to tell someone "My baby is in the hospital." Those words have a strange affect on me. James has always been my baby. And now when I say baby, I mean
baby. Like a human baby that I gave birth to. And... he's in the hospital. It just doesn't make sense to me sometimes.
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