November 4, 2013
This week, November 10th to be exact, Silas turns one.
His turning one has haunted me all year. Memories that I’ve fought hard to erase will billow back in like a curtain in an open window. It’s fabric being sucked in and pulled out over and over again. Memories washing over me like scenes from an old movie. The action cuts into my thoughts, replaying dramatic moments.
Rewind, play. Rewind, play.
Silas is one.
His heart is one, his hands are one. His voice and his soul and his brain are all one. I want to celebrate his life, but at the same time, his birthday is a reminder of his staggering birth story.
The blood, the panic, the fear, the trust, the sting of hearing his heart whoosh slowly over the ultrasound. The blackness, the dark, the sleep.
And then the awaking. A soft tap on my shoulder telling me it’s not over. My eyes opened, and I realized there was a birth, a life, a light, the most precious gift. He was inside a box filled with tissue and those foam peanuts. It was all in there to protect him and it was worth it. The newness, the tender sounds, the wires the beeps and fluids, the cautionary words from doctors, the nurses who held him, the tubes who fed him.
It was all worth it.
Today I celebrate Silas’ life. Not the fear surrounding his birth, but the story of hope, the story of grace, the story of God and his sweet goodness to us.
Welcome to one, Silas.
You are a fighter. You are so strong. May this strength carry you through your life, giving you pause when you need to stop, and flight when you need to fly.