The many faces of bravery

My mother in law was here for a few days catching up with the boys, (post on that coming up) we were talking, and she called Scott and Me brave. That got me thinking, a lot. In some ways I guess we have been brave. The last few years have been difficult to say the least, but I never would have used the word brave to describe us.

Brave--As defined by the Merriam-Webster online dictionary is: having or showing courage.

Hmm, okay, I guess we have shown a bit of courage, we have endured a lot. Five months in the NICU, five months of pure torture wondering everyday if the boys would ever be well enough to come home. But through of all of that, we came home with the prize. We have two healthy toddlers providing us with endless hours of joy.

I'm reminded that there are so many others that are not as lucky. There are the grieving Mom's I know only through their blogs. I'm not sure why I am drawn to their sorrow, but I am. Maybe it helps to remind me, on those tough days that I have to be thankful for two healthy boys, that life could be so different. Endure the whining, or the emerging tantrums, endure the battles at mealtimes, because we could have been forced to endure the worst tragedy a parent could experience. A simple twist of fate and one or both boys could have slipped through our fingers, never to take up residence in our home, always lingering in our hearts.

During our recent trip to the River, we spent some time with our friends Katherine and Paul and their two children, Naomi and Ian. Katherine and Paul had three children, another boy Richard born between Naomi and Ian. Born, brought home, and then suddenly taken ill. He lived for five weeks. His parents sat vigil at his bedside, and cared for their daughter too young to really understand all the commotion in their otherwise idyllic home. After losing their infant son to a virus that attacked his heart and kidneys, watching him get weaker and weaker, and ultimately leave this world, they had to go home without their son. They had to mourn and parent. I cannot imagine. I cannot fathom.

They got out of bed each day, loved their daughter, with a giant hole in their hearts. Over time the hole is getting smaller, the wound not quite as raw. They were able to talk about Richard without losing it. They talked about how it is still hard. How when all the families are together, there's someone missing. The talked about how the emptiness is still present. What I marvel at is while experiencing the ultimate in grief, Katherine and Paul still managed to raise a vibrant, happy little girl. And they went on to have another child. I think I would have been paralyzed by fear. Fear that it could happen again. Knowing that, I wouldn't have it in me to go through it again. (Sometimes I think of another child, but the NICU looms over me like a cartoon anvil, ready to fall on my head.)

Yes, surviving the NICU, did require bravery.

Surviving the loss of your child, requires bravery I cannot even begin to touch.