The Hope and the Hurt

I got the text Monday, threw peanut butter at the kids, and drove to the hospital.  Josh met me there and took our kids, Aurora, and Cynthia’s mom.  I headed directly to the delivery room.

The room was empty.  Cynthia had gone for an ultrasound as soon as she was admitted, so other than her purse, there was no sign of an inhabitant.  I sat in the silence and gazed at the room.  It was all prepared for its next patient.  Everything there had a hint of familiarity.  The bed was made up and folded just right so that a mama could easily slip under the blanket.  The bedside table was ready with ice, cups, bendy straws, and Chap Stick.  The computer was prepped, ready to monitor those contractions.  A cart was there, ready to receive baby.

It was eerie, looking at those things.  Things that, in the past, have always symbolized new life.  This would be mine and Cynthia’s fourth delivery room experience together.  Life is hard, and between the two of us, there have been plenty of bad days.  But Delivery Room Days?  Those are supposed to be good days.  Those are days of joy.  They may be days of pain, but the end is always worth it.

Until now.

You see, this Delivery Room Day was not supposed to be until September.  On Israel’s birthday, in fact.  I had already planned on having Arrow accustomed to enough cow’s milk by then to be able to leave him all day, if need be, so I could be in the hospital with Cynthia.  I had planned on having her show me everything she was going to teach Aurora in the fall, so that I could easily “substitute” for her in homeschooling so she could spend time just with baby.  I was thinking about what kind of shower to throw her.

But then I got the text, and it was Delivery Room Day already.  And when there’s no heart beat, Delivery Room Day is very different.  There’s a picture of a floating leaf on the door.  There’s significantly less traffic in and out of the room.

And to watch your best friend go through the terrible physical pain of an induced labor while she struggles with the emotional pain that’s far worse?  To come back in the morning to a tiny bassinet inhabited by a tiny, fearfully and wonderfully made  person, who wasn’t actually there because he was already Home?

I feel older.  And tireder, if that’s possible.  And my heart breaks for my friend. And I would do anything to give him back to her.

And I know I’m not alone in that emotion.

What I love about Bobby and Cynthia is that, regardless of the terrible things that are thrown at them, they vehemently cling to their amazing faith in Christ.  They always have Hope.

But, even with Hope, there is Hurt.  And this is a terrible Hurt.

I’ll be honest, sometimes it’s hard to know what to pray.  Because there are no words.  But God knows that.  “For we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”  – Romans 8:26

Please pray for my friends.

The One Where My Lobster Came for My Birthday

One of the things I would have blogged about last year had I had time to blog at all was the fact that our family faced a huge loss.

We lost our lobsters.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m sorry.  I lived in a dark cave, too, until a few months ago when Friends finally made it to Netflix.  (And yes, this concept works with platonic friendships.  Chill out.)

The Millers moved away.  At first, it was manageable.  They moved three hours away from us in January, and although it was sad, we were still able to see each other once-a-monthish.

BUT THEN circumstances ended up sending them to Vermont, which is 20 hours away.

We no longer see each other once-a-monthish.

We’ve done the best that we could.  Neither Tiff or I are talk-on-the-phone kind of people, but we occasionally get a fix by sending each other texts that, to the common eye, would probably look rather bizarre.  I can always trust her to appreciate the dream I had about the toilet with the swivel sink, and she can always trust me to appreciate the strange occurrences that take place in the foreign country of New England.

But I’m not going to lie.  When I found a deodorant that smells just like Tiff’s house?

I bought it.

Anyway, their move was rough not only because Tiff is my lobster, but because her kids are my kids’ best friends.  So we are all sad.  Amused by the fact that the Millers have to use a sled to get their clothes to the Laundromat and then will most likely end up with Canadian quarters, but mostly sad.

SO, when I found out that, through a series of magical events, Tiff and the girls were going to manage to be in our area for around 16 hours, a couple days before my birthday, no less, I WAS JUST A LITTLE EXCITED.

So excited, I decided that the only logical thing to do, would be to throw a brunch!  So all of Tiff’s friends could see her at the same time!

That was a LOOOOONG intro mainly to serve the purpose of making sense out of The Pictures.  Because you know that if I’m going to do any kind of entertaining, the key element is The Pictures.

Ava with her girls!  We managed to completely surprise her – they came into her room while she was reading and she had NO IDEA they were coming.  Best surprise she could ever have!

Emma and Aurora’s 5 Year Portrait!!!  We’ve taken their picture together ever since their first birthdays, and I thought it wasn’t going to happen this year.  I’m pretty STOKED that it did!!!

All the kids at the brunch!  My girls were super sweet and surprised me with some birthday goodies!  Love the hats!  (And I apologize about Egan’s shenanigans.  I can’t even.)

This is my new favorite picture!  Every single one of these ladies are so special – I love that we were able to get this picture!

Arrow’s first time meeting Tiff – he was well aware that he was meeting A LEGEND.  Seriously, it has been sad not having Tiff around for his baby-hood – but I’m so glad she got to meet him before his first birthday!

Love this lady!

All SEVEN in our combined crew!

We packed a lot of fun into our tiny visit!  And now, if you need me, I’ll be curled up with my deodorant.  Thanks.