The Box Lurking Behind the Door

I am having a hard day. I woke up with a fog surrounding me. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, but I knew it was going to be a hard day. (It may have had something to do with the fact that I have not slept a full night in DAYS because my boys keep taking turns having "nightmares" and though they are wonderful to cuddle with, sleeping with them is like sleeping with a violent octopus!) I digress.

So, my heart heavy, I got up and began the day. I prepared breakfast for the boys but I haven't been able to shake the immense heaviness and sadness I am feeling. It is kind of interesting because just yesterday I was sharing at Bible study how at peace I am about this pregnancy and how God is pouring his grace upon me and I am enjoying the gifts he has given.

When I get sad or anxious I tend to clean. I don't mean pick up a bit, I mean scrub with fury. I mean I begin throwing things away. So, I decided I would opt for that method of therapy today and I began on our bedroom which is ALWAYS the biggest disaster in the house. As I was moving things to sweep, I saw it. It is always there, I walk by it every day, but I typically walk right past without a second thought. Today it was glaring at me. A cardboard box hiding behind our bedroom door. It was overflowing and beckoning me. I grabbed the box and put it on the bed. I began to pull all of the things out of the box. A lock of strawberry blonde hair, tiny perfect footprints, endless cards, photos, newspaper clippings, it is Asher's box. I ran my fingers over his footprints. Tears began to flow.

He doesn't have a room in our house filled with his things. He has a box. Everything tangible that reminds us of Asher all fits into a small cardboard box. It doesn't seem right. it doesn't make sense. I looked through his memory book where I had written all of the details of his time with us. Now, I must also admit that Asher also has a bag, it is filled with his blankets, hats, and his outfit he wore, along with stuffed animals we took his picture with. I have NEVER opened the bag. It is a white plastic bag with the hospital logo on it. It hangs in my closet, but I cannot bring myself to open it. I know that opening that bag will unleash emotions I am just not ready to deal with and so it will remain sealed until I am ready. I still have NOT opened Isaac's bag so I do not expect this one will be opened anytime soon either.

As I continued to look through the contents of the box I found an ultrasound picture. It is dated November 20, 2007. That is ONE YEAR ago today. That is the date of our first appointment at the hospital in Pittsburgh. That is the date that our fears were confirmed. It is a date that I hope to never have to relive. We were told that our baby had "issues" and that a counselor would be in to discuss our options. I was 22 weeks pregnant. I heard our options and immediately became filled with rage. That moment when the words termination and my baby boy came into the same sentence was the only moment of my life that RAGE is the best word to describe how I felt. My heart hurts so deeply but I cannot imagine for ONE moment my life without any of my children. All of the hurt and anger began to well up in me again today.

How could ANYONE say that Asher's life didn't matter? Yet, statistics say that 90 percent of the time when such a birth defect is found that a parent will terminate the pregnancy. I feel that many moms are misinformed. Termination is often presented as the only REAL option. Families are not often supported by the medical community to carry a baby to term despite their "issues". This my friends is something we need to work on. Parents need to know there IS an option. Either way they will hurt. But by chosing LIFE they are chosing to give it to God and when he writes the story amazing things happen through suffering.

Each of my children has been given to me by God. Each of them is a special gift. I have been blessed FIVE times now and I am so grateful for each of the lives God has trusted me with. They each matter. They matter to us, and they matter to God. Children are all a gift. Not just some, not just the ones the world sees as perfect. ALL children.

That box lurking behind the bedroom door reminded me of where we stood on this date last year. I am thankful for that box and thankful for the life represented by that box. Though the tangible memories of Asher's life can be held in that box, the impact he has had cannot.