What. A. Hard. Day.
I would imagine that if you are reading this, you'd imagine that *I* would be consumed with anxiety about tomorrow. Especially if you know me in real life. And I know many of you do and are laughing this second and saying, "Yep."
You'd be wrong.
I *am* terrified about tomorrow, because I desperately would love for my little Yellow Fish to be happily growing and living within me but the anxiety is more in the KNOWING than the not. I know that sounds weird, as I keep saying that knowing will at least allow me to plan, and that's true. Knowing can also bring more heartache...no, WILL bring more heartache, and frankly, I'm sort of ok NOT knowing and still hoping. Hence my resolve of steel in not taking a test early.
I'm consumed, though...I'm consumed with heartache. It's torturous. It's wretched. I'm tormented.
I miss my son. I miss my child. I miss the little boy I carried and gave birth to. I miss John Matthew Ennis. Beyond belief.
I went to the cemetery after Bible study (Which, by the way, was absolutely humbling. If you have never had a group of women surround you with love and prayers, literally, I highly recommend it.). I took some new flowers (called a Garden of Hope bouquet) and the sun was glorious. It is such a beautiful day. And as I sat there at his site, sobbing more than I have sobbed in a while, I just couldn't get past the growth of the new grass, which I think was thrown down at the funeral. Soft and bright, kelly green grass. Beautiful and new little blades of baby grass.
And I thought, "This is the green I get for my son on St. Patrick's Day? This is all I get? The grass gets to grow but my son doesn't?"
And I wept more.
I'm consumed alright. I am so conflicted because I of course have been on my knees begging for a positive pregnancy test tomorrow, but that's been overshadowed by the fact that I miss Matthew. I sat at that grave, where I had to leave his little body 15 weeks ago and could not believe that this is my life. That that was HIS life.
And yet, I heard a term this morning that made my heart feel a little lighter. Beth Moore (LOVE HER!) was speaking about praise and talked about the kind of praise you give when your heart is broken. She called it the 'sacrifice of praise' and I knew exactly what she meant. Praise God even though your heart is broken. That we choose to praise Him even when we feel so crushed.
And I do. I praise Him every day for the miracle of Matthew. That He made me a mother. That He allowed me to love and learn about that precious little boy. I can, if nothing else, never have enough gratitude to God for the most amazing thing that has ever happened to John and me.
Little Yellow Fish, I praise God for you too. For the sheer hope in you that I have. I know that if tomorrow is negative, I will survive because I've already had the worst thing imaginable happen to me and I still breathe. But oh how I will rejoice if it is positive. Please know that though my heart just weeps because I miss Matthew, there is so, so, SO much room in it still for the miracle you would be.