On Christmas Day last year, we were huddled together in the emergency room of MGH in Boston, heads down in fervent prayer and hands wrung in an odd mix of hope and despair. The ER was eerily quiet. An elderly woman was waiting anxiously for her husband. I just had the nth vial of blood taken from me since we arrived in Boston three days ago. The doctor had trouble looking for a spot on my arms that wasn’t already bruised by all the blood-taking they did. But that didn’t matter as much as what the doctor was going to tell us when the bloodwork was ready.
Two hours later, the resident on-call told us that our pregnancy looked to be progressing much better than it did a few days ago, but that’s only from the bloodwork and we won’t know for sure if our baby was going to be okay until a few weeks later. I was told to return for further tests in two days’ time. We took whatever that was positive, heaved a strangled sigh of relief, and stepped into the first snowflakes that fell that winter. Better was the best gift we could ask for.
This Christmas…the tree is up, the fairy lights are twinkling and the presents are waiting to be opened. Baby Faith joins us for her first Christmas. We are delighted and beyond thankful to be her parents, to love her the way our folks love us. We take nothing for granted and we are happy. She is our gift, as with faith, which inspired her name.
I don’t know what the future holds for our little family. But I know this…that I will treasure every single moment I have with my loved ones, and that I will thank the high heavens for every tomorrow.
Happy Christmas, everyone.