It just can't be true

I look into these eyes and I gaze on this smile and I tell myself "it just can't be true." We just made it home and we are still struggling to believe that she and I may be leaving once again. It is just too much to bare at this time.

The anxiety, the hurt, the disappointment that I am feeling inside my heart is so heavy I can't seem to shake it. I put on a happy face to get us throughout the day so as not to alert Blake or Allison just yet. Now that they are tucked into bed my happy face has faded away and all I can do is fight back the tears that want so desperately to fall.

I'm sitting in our family room. The tree is glowing, the candles are burning sweet smells, the children are sleeping, and the music is playing. I love this place. I truly love our home. My heart is so grateful for each and every moment spent here. Contentment resides inside of me as we reside here. I can't imagine packing our bags and driving away 3 weeks before the holidays.

Is it irony or just a cruel twist of fate that just moments before we picked up the phone and answered to find transplant on the line we had finalized all of the travel arrangements and necessary approvals to fly with Ashley's medical supplies, bags of fluids and pumps. My heart was so excited and so happy and then it began to pound so hard I thought it would burst. Each time they say, "We'd like you to come back" I feel as though something pierces my insides. Once you've been forced away from your home, your family, your everything the thought of leaving it again is more than devastating. I still can't believe this is happening.

I called Dave at the office and asked him what we were going to do. His answer was this, "Were going to live. Were going to allow her to live. Outside of a bubble. Experience as much living as she possibly can." On that note we packed her up and allowed her to go out with us to Blake's basketball game tonight. It felt so good to have her with us and yet it was so frightening to me to actually take her out there. Anyway, while we were at the game transplant left a message on our phone asking us to call in the morning to work out the details of getting her scoped. Thats all the message said. It didn't say here or there. I have no idea which direction were going, but tonight I hope with all that is in me that we are staying here for the scope and then I am hoping it is clear. Clear of rejection. Clear of CMV. Clear of anything that could harm our child. Clear of anything that could give anyone reason to feel as though she should be hospitalized.

I wish I could tell you of this amazing, miraculous peace that I feel. A peace that has overtaken all doubt and fear and anxiety. A peace that assures me we are going nowhere. A peace that washes over me and lets me know that she is fine and we are going to be fine. I wish that's what I had to share with you tonight, but its just not where I am. Where I am is on the other side of that peace. The side that has me frightened and hurt and doubting. Thats where this mommy's heart finds itself on this December night.