My parents took Sy and Ivy for awhile and Ryan and I went out for dinner. We ate food that comforted our soul and we talked about our Lucia and everything we remembered about her six weeks on this earth. And then we talked about Sylas and how smart and loving he is and we laughed about Ivy's spunk and how we get jealous of who gets to get her out of her bed in the morning (she is the snuggliest thing). I was coming up for air.
I remember doing this so often during the first week after the babies were born. There was so much despair in that NICU, watching our babies struggle, holding them as they left this earth. Then, at the end of the day or sometimes the wee hours of the morning, all of us (parents, siblings, friends) would troop back to my hospital room and talk about stupid things like flatulents and we would laugh and then cry and laugh again. It kept me sane. It kept me from going down too deep into the depths. I would sink and sink and then poof, a powerful kick to the surface, a quick breath, then down again.
It's still so much the same, but now I spend most of my time on the surface, only sinking on occasion, and by God's grace never going too low.
I breathe this beautiful life.