There’s a Hole in my House

It’s not from a leaky toilet or a curious little girl with a hammer and it can’t be fixed by calling a handyman or contractor. This hole doesn’t have a simple solution and it’s only observable to the keen eye. It comes in the form of sleep-filled, quiet nights, the laughter or crying of only one kid instead of two. It’s in the absence of that age old cooing that every family member makes while leaning over Mom or a bassinet. This hole is Liam-shaped and it won’t be repaired for some time. 

I realized while recovering in the maternity ward how much I and many others have taken for granted the ability to just leave the hospital with our newborns forever. Go forth and keep this little human being alive for the next 18 years. It’s a scary business getting in a car to go be parents with little to no experience, but how sweet it is to leave the hospital with only the worries of a normal baby to keep you on your toes. I mourn the loss of that sweet moment of stepping through the front door with a 2-day old little boy cradled in my arms and all the stress that comes with juggling a second child at home. If I’m being honest, I more than mourn- I rage. The unfairness of it all makes me want to scream into the sky. 

This morning, the first thing my daughter said to me when she woke up was, “Are you leaving me?” My heart was shattered, but I smiled and explained that yes, mommy and daddy were going to go to the hospital to talk to Doc McStuffins about fixing baby Liam’s heart. I suggested that she may want to color a picture to put in her brother’s room at the hospital and told her all the family who were planned to take her on adventures today- all of which seemed to pacify her, though I could tell it wasn’t her first choice. When we left she was walking our dog with her Grampy and we slowed down and waved goodbye to her. I won’t ever be able to forget the look on her face in the rear-view mirror as we rolled away. Having to daily choose which kid is going to get more of me is torture.

Today has been a good day in the PCICU. Baby Liam is asleep on my chest (Kangaroo Care or skin to skin) as I write this with a single thumb, rocking my whole body to keep a good bounce going. There are sweet moments here in this room as we wait for our surgery day- we are thankful for steady heart and respiratory rates. We get excited over the progress Liam has with feeding practice and his awake time is getting longer, his eyes focusing on the shapes and shadows of familiar voices. We still find space to laugh with each other and with the amazing nurses and doctors dedicated to helping Liam come home. We are finding new ways to be a family all together (I’ve never been so thankful to watch Moana as I was yesterday with everyone in the same room together- even if it was just for 30 minutes). 

Everyday, we learn more about our family- how much endurance we have, how much patience. I’ve personally learned how to effectively apply eyeliner to swollen eyes. Our little girl is resilient and this time in her life won’t even be a memory to her, but I know she will carry forward this strength in the years to come. And all of this also teaches us lessons that we will be reminded of and will use for the rest of our lives- take joy in every moment of every day. Don’t spend time worrying about all the different ways things can go wrong. Love one another by giving each other space to do what they need to survive. I hope we will live better with these tools in our collective belts, but we are not whole- not yet. 

When the sounds of a happy baby boy are added to the cacophony of toddler squeals and dog barks- that’s when we’ll be whole. Photo credit: Holly Dwan info@hollydwanphotography.com