Then tears and memories came rushing in like crashing waves.
I remembered carrying the child over which I was now losing sleep.
I remembered her being a night owl even in the womb. (Her kicks and twists becoming more aggressive while I was trying to rest for the night.)
I remembered choosing her middle name, Hope, for several reasons but mostly because that was what I was holding onto as I carried her during a difficult time in the pregnancy.
I remembered ER visits.
I remembered her early arrival.
I remembered hearing the word "STAT" from the doctor as my warm newborn was hastily put on my stomach so the doctor could deal with complications.
I remembered watching her struggle to breathe before being rushed away by ambulance to NICU at a bigger hospital.
I remembered the compassion of the doctor as he released me reluctantly to be with my baby instead of keeping me to have the blood transfusion as he preferred.
I remembered visiting her in NICU...a machine helping keep her lungs inflated, machines monitoring her, lights helping with jaundice.
I remembered our first Mother's Day...only getting to visit her during visiting hours.
I remembered all the struggles that we both faced with our health issues over the next several months.
I remembered that once I could hold her...I never wanted to let her go.
And, in that moment, with tears flooding my eyes, I said another prayer of thanks.
My daughter started off life struggling just to breathe. Her life has been a continual line of hurdles to overcome. However, she isn't alone. We face each challenge as a family...a praying family.
We have so much for which we are so thankful and I say another prayer of thanks every time I reminded of that fact.
