A Mother.

Before I found out about Deak, I experienced four days of the "normal" nesting rituals that inevitably ensue upon hearing the words, "It's a boy/girl."

I shopped.

I ordered a little onesie with an embroidered applique that read, "Mommy's Little Slugger" among other things I deemed absolutely necessary.

Those packages were carefully put away by my sister, unopened, inside the closet of the room we had stopped preparing for our Deak when the doctors told us he would not live. I couldn't bear to even look at them.

The weekend of Mother's Day 2006, something inside of my husband must have told him, this little guy we were hoping for was going to make it. He snuck my daughter, Abby, away and together they picked up the paint we had chosen for our boy's room. Together, they painted.

The project they so thoughtfully dug themselves into obviously signified more than just a colorful nursery for our Deak to come home to.

They were paint strokes strengthened by a hope we were learning to hold to onto. It was an acknowledgement that we were going to do this; love this boy with all we had to give.

It was hope that this boy the world told us would not live, would. That his purpose would carry him home with us, at least long enough to sleep inside the room we had spent hours creating and dreaming for him.

I had Deak, unexpectedly, the very next day.

May 15, 2006

My most favorite Mother's Day gift ever.

*November 2007*

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