Fears.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the fears in my life.

Fears of having another premature baby. Fears of having another child with health problems. The fear of losing a child again.

Fear of realizing that the future is not in my hands.

A little over a week ago Rusty's mother had a stroke, followed by seizures. The fear of losing her swept over each of us. The helplessness of not being in control of the outcome. We were reminded of how fragile life is. The realization that you may lose someone, allows you to start thinking of all that life would be missing with their absence. She continues to recover well, leaving us with much to be grateful for.

I vividly remember a moment walking through the halls at the hospital in South Bend, IN when things were continuing to go wrong with Olive...fluid was still leaking out of her suture wound after her second shunt surgery. I remember the deep fear that came over me when I realized that even in a country with a wonderful medical system that there is only so much that modern medicine can do. The realization setting in, that I could still lose her. And then my prayer that followed

"Jesus, I know I told you to care for her in the best way...whether that be with you in heaven, or leaving her in my care on earth. But I've changed my mind. Please don't take her from me. I'm far too attached. Please let me keep her."

I remember the fear in my heart as I lie in bed the night before she died. The low grade fever, the fussiness, and the suture wound that continued to leak. I went to pump my milk at 1 am that night and a nurse was rocking her. My heart sunk when I saw her...something just wasn't right, and I asked the nurse to contact the doctor.

I remember each minute that passed in the next day.
The fear that overtook me when it was clear she had an infection.
The first time the nurses had to resuscitate her when I went down for an MRI with my aunt Anne and Olive.

I remember the moment of accepting that Olive wasn't going to make it.
Letting go of the hope that she would get through this.
The endless tears.
The deep aching in my fully broken heart.
Weeping over her little body that eventually grew cold in my arms.

But even after Olive left me, and my worst fears became reality, I never once regretted being chosen to be her mother. We were made for each other, and the things she taught me have changed me in ways I probably haven't even fully figured out. I never regret falling in love with her.

And I suppose I won't ever regret falling in love with another child, even if I were to lose them.

That doesn't take away my fears, but it helps.