There will be change

35 weeks today.  My little guy is a fighter and may just make it to his due date of December 15th.  I had another ultrasound last week.  We got a beautiful picture of him with his eyes open!  What a miracle that was!  He measured about 4.5 pounds, which is only the 10th percentile for weight, but he is still growing and his little heart keeps beating strong.  I must admit I was hoping for better news.  I can’t help but hope for that miracle, that perhaps God had decided that I was worthy of something amazing, but yet the diagnosis is always the same, and my baby will die, and I will suffer the most horrible pain a mother can suffer, the loss of a child. 

I’ve had some pretty rough days over the past few weeks.  I know my time is limited now and the closer I get to December 15th, the more scared and anxious I become.  It’s quite the opposite of how an expecting mother should feel.   People will make comments like "Oh you must be so ready to get that baby out!”  I just smile and tell them I’m completely comfortable.  The truth is I feel scared that I only have 5 weeks or less left with him.  If I could keep him safe in there forever I would.  

When my husband and I found out about Benjamin’s diagnosis, we decided that we would only tell just a few of our closest friends about his condition.  While I told 5 of my closest friends, my husband throughout the weeks, told many more.  I guess it was his way of coping with the stress, but the more people he told, the more angry I became.  I asked him again and again to please stop telling people, but he didn’t take me seriously until I came to tears about the issue.  He asked me why I didn’t want people to know, but the reason I had was clear and proven, the more people that knew, the less people talked to me.This is true.   It’s funny how lonely you can feel even when there is whole world of friends surrounding you. 

There are few that are called to this Earth as comforters - these beautiful people are warm and tender.  They look into my eyes and see my tears, and they seem to know intuitively what I need. They can articulate how they feel, and recognize my never-ending pain, and sometimes they don't need to say anything at all and I still feel loved.  The difference between them and most others, is that they are not afraid of their emotions and tears, or of 
mine.

I am afraid of how I will feel toward those others - the friends who ignore the conversation about my dying baby, the ones who were unable to share my grief, the ones who don't know death and are afraid to be around it.  There will be a change, I have already felt it.

I rarely make it through a day without crying.  I think of him all day.  I feel his kicks and see his beautiful little face in ultrasound pictures.  He is my baby, I do not want to put him in a box and lay him ground.