A Thousand Words

It is said that a picture paints a thousand words. How many words can I find that go along with this picture?

Joy. Contentment. Relief. Love. Delight. Elation. Jubilance. Comfort. Peace. Pleasure. Gladness.

At last, my baby...my daughter and her husband have come home with their son, Cyrus Jones. My grandson. The moment I saw this picture my heart felt relief. A thousand words.

Over the last 17 days my emotions have traveled to places I have never experienced before.

My friend, Abigail Rine, wrote on her blog the words that perfectly expressed what my heart was feeling:

"Being a mother is like living with your heart outside of your chest. You have tethered it to another impossibly fragile life, and there is a wound leftover, a hole that will never heal."

The fragile lives I have tethered my heart to are Brenna, Kalie and Jesse. Seventeen days ago my heart wound extended to Kalie's son. The hole in my heart throbbed. Each day, being separated during this time of uncertainty, the distance between Portland and Seattle, was as vast as the deepest part of the ocean.

Kalie faithfully kept me current on the daily reports of her son's progress. Each day brought more good news about his progress. Despite a diagnosis of Cystic Fibrosis, the most urgent concern was his recovery from surgery for an intestinal blockage.

When I couldn't face another unknown moment, I prayed. My husband comforted me...we both ached for our daughter and son-in-law. Prayers from friends and family sustained us all. Our hearts were heavy at the thought of Cyrus being in the hospital. Our hearts were comforted by the fact that he was in good hands, loved by his caregivers, beholden by his parents. He had so much going for him.

Perspective kept me expressing gratitude. During the first days after Cyrus's surgery we were painfully aware that our little grandson was one of the lucky ones. Born healthy, he was a strapping 8 pounds in a NICU of much smaller infants.

Our heartache is not be diminished by this perspective. God's love transcends what our minds can comprehend. I believe that perspective keeps us humble but does not change the fact that God gives us comfort in our own heartache.

Much of what I have experienced over the last 17 days further confirms that God loves me. From getting to Seattle in time to witness the birth of my first grandson, to the fact that as I write this my three children are together, with the newest member of our family, celebrating my own son's 23rd birthday. On one hand my heart longs to be with them. On the other hand my heart is full of joy knowing that my children love each other enough for Kalie and Aaron, just arriving home from an emotional journey, to host Brenna and Jesse for dinner in celebration of birth.

Joy. Contentment. Relief. Love. Delight. Elation. Jubilance. Comfort. Peace. Pleasure. Gladness.

When I gaze into the face of my daughter in this picture my heart can hardly contain all that I feel. The heart that beats for my children now extends to my grandson. I share the emotions found on Kalie's face, emotions welled up from her heart and poured over into her son.

Now my daughter is a mother who is living with her heart outside of her chest. She has tethered it to another impossibly fragile life, and there is a wound leftover, a hole that will never heal.