Inside I find maternity clothes that I cannot yet toss. Clothes I wore for just a few short weeks. The same clothes that I should have found too small by this time two years ago as my belly grew and Addison and Blake did too. Instead, I came home one day and tossed them in a box "just incase" hope let us try again. There is such a strong part of me that wants to just throw them away - along with all the bad luck they could bring. But there is a part of me that until today couldn't let them go.
That's not the only box I keep. There's the one with all the "history" in it. A story of two babies born too soon. The story of one little girl who many thought would never survive. A different story of a boy who is a miracle in his own right.
In that box I found their tiny footprints. And a report from Genetics. One that tells me there is/could be a diagnosis for sweet Addison. One doctor's haven't discovered yet. One that may not actually exist or perhaps just a fluke. Something that whispers "You may never know, and this is beyond your control."
That one piece of paper reminds me just how fragile her life is. And how far she had come already. A single piece of paper that ties me to the past and the fear of the future. I wish I could throw that away too, but I can't. It will follow Addison through life. And who knows... It may never be important, but rather just a reminder of how far she has come.
I didn't mean to take this walk today. A glimpse into the past. I wanted to walk away. I was just going to change out winter sweaters for warmer clothes, and file away more reports and progress notes for Addison and Blake. One look at those footprints and I knew I had fallen in. I didn't expect it to hit me at all. Perhaps I am not as "over it" as I thought. Or perhaps it's just the moments from the past few weeks that have made those emotions stronger. Either way here they are on the surface today. Doesn't make me weak, it just shows how far we've all come in the last two years.
For now I tuck the papers back in their place. I can hear her sweet voice on the monitor and I know she has made it another day. They both have. And for that I will hit my knees and bow my head. Thanking God for all of this. I'll wipe away the tears and go get my sweet girl and her brother who is now whispering "I go play outside," I will hold them tight for a moment before we run out the door to soak in the sun and fresh air.
I won't let these moments slip away.