It has been a while. Ginny's bed rest has not really allowed much time for blogging- or going to the bathroom for that matter. She has a Dr.'s appointment tomorrow. It has now been 6 weeks and 5 days of bed rest, but who's counting?
Me, that's who. February, the month she's due, seems more like a speck on a distant horizon than a reality, almost a little cruel to actually dwell on. But getting through a day is a victory, and a good thing for baby #3.
I always prepare scripted answers to questions I know I will receive in multiples of ten. This process, while admittedly uncreative, allows for the fact that I am prone to uninhibitedly say what I think and this habit often leaves me apologizing to someone for something. So, I craft a good enough reply, and if the first recipient seems pleased, I go with it. In order to give you a window into our world, here are a few of the ones dealing with bed rest.
> Life looks wildly different than it did 6 weeks ago. The way we do every single thing as a family has changed.
> For me it is completely a a physical thing. There is more to do than I can. And I have no time to feel anything because the trash needs to go out, Hazel is crying, and we probably need to eat something tonight. For Ginny, it is completely an emotional thing. And the fact that what we are walking through looks so different, is what makes it feel like your not going through it together.
> No Ginny is not bouncing off the walls. She is actually handling the down time well. Somehow, she manages to have plenty to do, all from her perch on the couch. But what has been really hard for her is not getting to mother Hazel the way she would like. Watching other people meet the needs of your daughter is not fun.
There are plenty more actually, but you get the idea. I just wanted to give a brief update on bed rest. Again, our family and friends have made it possible for Ginny to do what she is supposed to- sit and be still. We cannot thank them enough.
However, today is not really about bed rest. Today is about honoring two of my favorite lives: my son and my wife.
Today is Ginny's 30th birthday and the 3 yr marker for Eliot leaving this earth.
Today is a special day.
I hoped that forcing myself to write on this day would help me grapple with what I feel and think about a day that is always an awkward tight rope walk between deep pain and inexpressible joy.
Tears fall like leaves around this time each year. Fayetteville is on fire.
Our hometown is covered with hues of red, orange, and yellow. As if the trees were trying to tell us something. A recital for those who will listen. I devise reasons to get out of the house just so Hazel and I can meander through streets- the ones with real trees, just before and after the suburbs. I don't even try to describe the brilliance to Ginny because she will know she is missing out.
Far and away, this is my favorite time of the year. The intensity of the colors are matched only by the thoughts of my son that come so effortlessly and so often. Thus, this season always come bearing gifts for us. And I love it for that.
Ginny broke down this week on a friend who asked what we would do for this day. Nothing seems appropriate or enough. How does one approach a day that changed everything? Not to mention, it is Ginny's birthday. And before you wish that weren't so, just know that there is something beautiful about that fact that I cannot quite put to words.
So, defying doctor's orders, I took her out today. We visited the grave and ate an Italian lunch. But most of all, we just drove around and looked up at the leaves.
We talked about how Eliot's life has changed us. Of how God has worked enough redemption that we can breathe. We can see green peaking through ashes. In fact, just being witness to this is one of the main changes. For we desire to be a part of God's working redemption in the lives of others.
And the leaves keep talking. He is making all things new.