Worth the Wait

It was a long wait for my sister. In the four years I brought five children into the world, she frequented the same kind of offices and went through the same procedures. Her Lizzie and my Eliza were only a few months apart.

Then suddenly, I was tossed into a fast-moving river while she wandered the desert. She celebrated with me – her laughter genuine, for she understood. But the parch of emptiness, the sting of broken dreams must have left her wilted and wondering. Quietly, she tucked promises into her back pocket and moved through life. She longed for more babies, but none came.

I understand what it is to wait and surrender – but not like her. We’ve surrendered in very different ways. Me to more. Her to less.

Even the most good, the most selfless, the most committed are challenged. And that is Deb. She is most selfless, most good. She works behind the scenes, diverts compliments, glides beyond attention. Her compassionate hand is always extended. Her creativity and talents are unusual, unequaled. Bent over her machine, she sews for family, friends, the children. I see her bright patterns dancing through our home, legs whirring, daily. The totes, the lambies, the purses – strewn in corners, dangling through crib slats, hanging on hooks, stuffed with favorite ponies, books, and trinkets.

All Deb.

The heavens have rained their numbers, drawn our lots. And as I hold him for the first time, his slender fingers wound round mine, I hear the soft suckling of lip and tongue on bottle, I brush my dry hands across his satin skin and wonder, is she comforted at last? Is he enough?

Then someone asks her, so is this it? And she says yes, as a matter of acceptance. She is mourning a new plan. We all do at some point. And it hurts when our lives are yanked out of our hands, crushed into something we didn’t ask for, didn’t want, didn’t expect.

But for now, I love seeing her heft a baby seat, leave our matronly circle to nurse, cradle him length-wise on her lap, cherishing his little hands clutched tightly inside hers.

He was worth the wait.

Every long minute.

And in the end, the very eternal-after-this-veiled journey-end, all losses are restored. Every hurt is mended. And all things are made perfect.

Just like him.

Welcome Michael.