Thanksgiving

A sort of journal entry from me (Misty), since I don't have access to any pictures right now :(

Thanksgiving means so much more to me this year, as I'm sure holidays always take on new meaning for those that were childless the year before. Listen to how I speak of it, though...as if he didn't exist last year. I have found myself several times this year thinking it was actually Evan's first Thanksgiving and Christmas. But it's not. And we do have fond memories of last year's holiday season...the NICU nurses and doctors, his photo shoots with Nurse Laura, the gifts we received for him, the time away from the NICU to be with family and friends we so missed. No, it's not his first holiday season, but it is certainly a different holiday season than last year. I have found myself emotional when engaging in typical, traditional events this holiday season, such as decorating for Christmas and having Thanksgiving dinner. I have so much to be thankful for. And it's not the good reports at the doctors, the milestones he achieves, or even his amazing smile that gets me emotional (most times). It's when we're doing something mundane such as grocery shopping, sitting down to dinner at Thanksgiving (not exactly mundane, but a very normal activity), and simply visiting with family that I find myself choked up. It is these very normal, traditional, day-to-day tasks and events that would be so very different had Evan's course in the hospital gone differently. He either just wouldn't be here, bringing a smile to my face nearly every minute of every day (except, of course, when he won't eat for me), or he could still be here but be a very different little boy, either physically or cognitively. But instead, I took home the sweetest, best behaved, smartest, happiest, cutest little man EVER. What did I do to deserve THAT? What makes me so special that I get him? Why do other people, who would make amazing parents, have to watch their precious little girl teeter on the edge of life for months on end, just to put her to rest in Jesus' arms? Don't get me wrong...Jesus' arms is a fine place to be, but why do they have to suffer and I get what I have?

I was so relieved today that we skipped one of our traditions of going around the table to state what we are thankful for. I was having one of my choked-up-because-we're-doing-something-normal-with-our-healthy-baby moments at just the time we would have been stating what we are thankful for. I'm sure I would have only been able to eek out the name Evan. Just Evan.