Almost exactly two years ago I was posting on our caringbridge site, documenting each stage of our terminally ill 18-month old son's death from liver cancer. On a date I'll never forget, November 11, 2010, we made the decision to leave the hospital and go home with hospice - Vincent's feeding tube was removed and he was given a running cocktail of morphine and other drugs to ease the pain from his tumors.
Then we waited. Although he had been given approximately 48 hours to live, Vincent tenaciously hung on to life for another 11 days as family flew in from out of town, forming a bedside vigil of sorts, taking turns watching him every minute of the day and night.
Each morning Theo would bound into our bedroom, the site of everything hospice-related, asking "Is Vincent still here?" Yes, his baby brother Vincent was still here, laborously breathing, mostly unconscious, but still with us. We would hold him, sing to him, pray with him, and release him to Jesus. "You can leave for the bright happy place whenever you want" we'd say. Every night we'd emotionally prepare ourselves for his death. When it didn't come, we'd brace ourselves for another day of waiting, relieved that he was still here with us, wishing it wasn't the end.
Fast forward two years. Again we're waiting. But this time we're waiting for a new life to be born. And of course, this sort of waiting is infinitely easier than the other kind. It's infinitely less sad. But as our November 11 due date has come and gone and as Vincent's anniversary of passing looms closer, I'm again finding myself in limbo, anticipating an irreversible event to take place that I cannot control. Waiting. Again.
What am I waiting for? I'm waiting for this new child to be born, to see his little face, touch the hands and feet that have been squirming inside of me for so long. I'm waiting to observe the 2nd year anniversary of Vincent's passing, waiting to remember that awful and wonderful day when he was finally happy. I'm waiting for the day that our family will be whole again, for the day I'll be with all my children, for the day I'll be able to hold a healthy Vincent in my arms.
I'm waiting. Waiting isn't always bad. But it is hard.
What a mixed bag of emotions..you all are such an amazing family. Your positive spirit whenever i am around you inspies me to be a patient person, a loving and kind person. I admire your strength even if it feels like you dont have any.i await for this precious gift of your baby boy..hugs to you...
I am thinking of you right now, lifting you up.
My dear dear friend. I love you more than words can say and I feel every single emotion that you write. You are so strong and such a wonderfully prepared Mommy. What lucky children, hubby and family you have to be blessed with you in their lives.
Always thinking of you.....
Praying for you and this new little man as you wait to welcome him into the world!
Well, since this was written two days ago, you may not be waiting anymore. However, I'm still praying for you and the little one. Trusting the Lord to bring him forth, in His appointed time. God bless your family as you remember the things you passed through with Vincent this month. We will never forget that time in your life and rejoice knowing that one day you will truly be reunited. ((((HUGS))))Can't wait to hear the good news!
That was beautifully written, as always. We're remembering too- the 11th, the 20th, and every day in between. And while looking back we're also looking forward and anticipating the many happy days to come. Praying for you and ...waiting.
oh my, I'm happy to see this news since I haven't peeked in on your blog in some time. Congratulations! I hope you are home cuddling your new little one now. So sweet to hear Theo's words also. Love to you and all of your boys!
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