I sat down in the bathroom of our little apartment, away from our two little girls, and chose to keep the malformed baby growing inside of me. I chose strength and trust over fear that day.
It was a devastating car ride home that afternoon 20 years ago. I sat quietly staring out the car window while my then husband spoke all of his fears into the space between us. The words of the doctors explaining the tragedy growing in my belly ringing in my head. Of how I had only a week to decide whether or not to go through with the pregnancy.
My prayers were weak back then but my faith strong. With my hands on my belly I spoke to my son, telling him, convincing him (and myself) that we could beat whatever odds they gave us, together. My stubborness wouldn’t have it any other way.
Turns out, it was the four of us that beat it. My son, his two older sisters, and me. He learned to walk, he survived multiple surgeries, kicked butt in therapy and grew. Through God’s love, and that of my son, I became a much better version of myself. A mother my now adult children still spend time with, laugh with, and lean on.
Not sure it was bravery that day. More a mother’s love and the need to trust what I was being given. Even so, it was the bravest and truest thing I ever did.
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