Tears

"There is a sacredness in tears.  They are not the mark of weakness but of power.  They are the messengers of overwhelming grief and of unspeakable love." ~Washington Irving

This was one of my favorite quotes throughout my pregnancy.  I often thought of it when all I could do was cry.  It justifies my tears.  So much grief, so much love, even before our little one had a known gender or a name.  I've cried more tears over these 10 months than I've cried over the past 10 years combined, and they continue to fall even as I write this.  

We have a routine now.  I go to the hospital to visit Molly for the first half of each day, and then I come home for the afternoon.  When Cameron gets home from work, we have dinner, then we go back to see Molly together at night.  Nights are our precious family time.  We usually give her her sponge bath on the scale under the heat lamp.  We brought in her own bath supplies, so she smells extra sweet.    Then we put her in a fresh diaper and clean outfit.  We swaddle her up tight and hold her, and read her a bedtime story.  She loves the stories her daddy read to her religiously before she was born.  Then we say her prayers and tuck her in to sleep.  Right now, she's already asleep for most of the routine, other than the bath, which she's learning isn't so bad after all.  

Would you believe she already recognizes our cues that we are saying goodnight?  She spends the evening quiet and calm, until we start to wrap up to leave.  Then she opens her eyes and bats them at us, suddenly wide awake for the first time all night, begging us to stay.  Or she starts to fuss with a pitiful scrunched face, and the urge to hold her is too strong to deny.  She knows when we are leaving.  She makes it next to impossible.  

But then we bid goodnight to our precious baby girl, and we eventually have to leave.  We leave her bedside and walk out of her room after several returns to kiss her sweet fuzzy head.  Always hand in hand, we walk out of the NICU, push the button for the elevator that always comes too quickly.  We walk down the deserted hall and out of the hospital into the lonely night.  Tears sting my cheeks that are chapped from our nightly exits in the cold.  We get in the car and leave the parking garage.  We drive the long way just to drive past her window, say goodnight to our sweet Molly as we go by.  Ask God one more time why we have to do this.  

Yesterday Molly turned 2 weeks old.  Leaving her has only gotten harder the more we get to know her and love her.  There is so much joy and hope and pride and life when we are together. It feels so wrong to be without her at home, in the car, everywhere I go.  She's supposed to be with me, isn't she?  I hope it won't be this way for too much longer...