It's Sunday night. James is at the mall reffing and then playing a game of hockey. I just got Henry to bed. It's 7:56. I'm alone and it is quiet. This is rare - I debate just signing off now and going to bed as I know I'll be up a few times in the night to comfort our Peanut.
Is it raining? Is it sleeting? Is that thunder? I can't really tell what is going on with the weather right now, but I know it has a way of mirroring the past eight months of our lives.
Henry came into this world with a bang just like the thunder rattles our window panes right now. Born just shy of six weeks early and with a very rare heart defect. Undergoing a never been done surgery at three months of age and not looking back since - Henry is doing wonderfully.
Nonetheless it is a cold and dark late February night and....is that sleet? I see myself in this night. I see the fear, the unknown that comes with raising a child. Let alone raising a child that was born with such a rare defect. Sometimes I let my mind drift into those very cold and very dark corners. Dark corners that made me certain the surgery wouldn't work - it did work. Cold corners that make me monitor his breathing like a hawk to make sure it is not labored at all. Were those retractions I saw? No - it was a hiccup. I let myself linger briefly, then pull myself out into the light.
The rain that is falling is the best part of tonight. It reminds me of cleansing, of life, of Spring coming soon. I've always loved the rain. The way it smells, the way it makes new, the way the sun shines when it is through. Henry is that rain. Cleansing the dark from my heart with a simple smile. He is fresh. He is new. And, he is powerful. The love he draws from me is unmatched. He is my rebirth, my hope.