7 years ago today I was sobbing in an ultrasound room.
I was wiping my husband's tears with my hand.
Watching a grown man cry is its own particular kind of sorrow.
We had learned that one of our twins was gone, and little did we know that in just three weeks, our world would shatter again. The remaining baby would be diagnosed "incompatible with life".
I remember so clearly walking out of that doctor's office, numb.
I remember hearing the receptionist tell my husband, "Oh! Twins! Next time, it's the big ultrasound! We book an hour for twins."
My sobs escaped me, harder, and he ran over to the elevator to push the "down" button. As the doors closed I heard him tell her, "One of them just died. It'll be a shorter time slot we'll need."
Two more sets of twins were conceived within the next five years, none of those babies survived.
I open up the twin stroller in the garage as I watch dust mites float through the afternoon shafts of sun light, down into my son's dusty blond hair. He's beautiful at this age; all skin and bones and lightness and Lego t-shirts. I still sometimes can't believe he came out of me, perfect, breathing,
He's not wearing shoes, only Lego socks, so I go inside the house to grab his shoes. That's when it hits me that this was the day seven years ago, when my world fell apart.
7 weeks ago she was born, perfect, breathing.
7 weeks ago I nearly died, and my uterus was thrown into the trash - God's official message to me that my uterus is no longer needed...He'll do fine without it. (And thank you, God, for that tender mercy.)
7 months ago a baby boy was born in our city. Not so perfect, squalling, tiny, needing a home.
7 months ago we welcomed him here.
As I place each baby in his or her side of the stroller, it hits me...
and the levity
is not lost on me.