Roads Less Traveled

Many many weeks ago, when I was in the first few weeks of this journey, I spoke about calling my Grandfather's voicemail, over and over, and just listening to his sweet voice. The recording of a voice long gone, but one that no one could quite bear to let go of...so the voice still answered the same number I'd dialed a thousand times in my life...the unfailing voices that always answered, always gave support and always prayed. Nearly five years ago my Grandmother no longer answered, and my Pappy stopped answering in August...but his voice remained true in that recording...."God Bless You" he said.

I was so comforted that day, just hearing his voice saying those simple words.

My best friend told me days later that in some of the earliest civilizations, people would call upon those who had gone before them in times of distress, to interecede with God on their behalf.

I haven't shared this before because I have truly been pondering the words of that all this time. The idea of what it means to be made in the image of God. The idea that humanity in its rawest form desires to be closer to God. The idea that no matter what you believe, where you were born, what your worldview is, the most primitive parts of us call out to that higher being when we feel distress.

The instincts of man have always fascinated me. The instinctual way my infant son reached out to hold his infant sister's hand when she cried, the instinctual way we protect our children, the instinctual way we fall in love with one another, and desire companionship and acceptance from one another. The instinctual way we will call out to those who have passed, and to God, to help us and protect us and love us.

Yesterday my friend, who has journeyed with me through this hydrops nightmare, lost her child. She carried her own beautiful baby girl. Protecting her and doing all she could to save her life. Many long weeks added to her child's life due to a mother and father's love and devotion. Two precious hours spent holding her and talking to her before she drifted into Heaven.

We both knew, when we decided to pursue this journey, that the possibility of this ending was great, but it doesn't make going through it any easier.

In those earlier, darker days, my friend became my positive reinforcer, always reminding me how good our babies were doing and how much we had to be grateful for during these extra weeks we offered our babies, and to stay strong and to believe in miracles. It hurts that her journey ended too soon. It makes me reflect on all that we have done and all the hopes we carry with these babies.

I try not to be discouraged, I know that Auguste and I have another road to travel, but it does remind me that I do not know where this road leads me. I can not see the ending and I do not know what lies around the next bend. I just walk in blind faith that I am being led there for a reason, even if I never know what that reason is or why I was chosen to travel it.

And the inner most part of me calls out for guidance, calls out for faith that the path I take won't lead me to more than I can bare, calls out for hope that my miracle is only a few weeks away, and to keep walking towards it, and trust in it. ...