35 weeks: An Open Letter

Dearest S,

You may not know this... but while you may have come as a surprise to us, you are in fact, an answered prayer.

Daddy and mummy lost your older brother/sister two Christmases ago.

Kind words, much-needed and gracious, came to comfort and help us through the uncountable sad and difficult days that followed. Such days were made of tears, often hidden behind facades that veiled the world to the mind-numbing pain (and guilt) we felt.

Of course, there were also the well-meaning urges of some who thought that it would do us good to move on quicker and have another baby soon. We did not intend to think of the next baby as a substitute - to salve and heal our wounds by taking the place of the departed - and we would certainly never want him/her to think of himself/herself that way. We did not want the next baby to come until grief had passed us by. 

And so, we waited.

Honestly, it was hard to tell when grief had truly passed us by. For mummy... denial, anger, bargaining and depression (per Kübler-Ross) eventually culminated in acceptance - albeit a strange kind. The kind, in which your heart is left feeling cold, numb and hard. I doubted if I would ever be a mum. I doubted if I should be a mum. I doubted if I even wanted to be a mum. Most of all, I feared that I would lose yet another baby - so I was terrified of getting pregnant again. 

Attempting to make plans for post-graduation (from the seminary) was doubly troublesome, not to mention depressing. I couldn't bear to make plans that did not include you (and your sibling(s) after you) in the picture. But somehow, I resisted making plans that had you and your siblings in the picture too.

Wouldn't it be easier if I had just trusted God?

Forgive mummy. You see, I have never been particularly optimistic my whole life. Craving some sort of control over the unforeseen and the uncertain is a tendency that I am not proud of.

And so, I resented it whenever people asked us when we were going to have another baby. Stressful question. But I spared their ears from sarcasm, inappropriate remarks and other comebacks that were uncharacteristic of a supposedly faith-filled seminary student.

God must have been very patient with me!

(I am also thankful for those who have been more sensitive and discerning not to push me too hard.)

Anyway, it was mummy's final year in the seminary last year. I was contemplating going on a little further in my theological education... when daddy asked me gently if I was ready for you.

I cried because I didn't know.

And then you came. 

You see, S, someday you might hear a voice. It might tell you that you were an unwelcome surprise to mummy - or that you had ruined her plans and crashed her dreams. It might tell you that you existed only to fill a gaping hole in our hearts from the loss of your older brother/sister. It might tell you that if you had come first, daddy and mummy would have loved you more. It might say mean and hurtful things that make you feel rejected, unwanted and unloved.

If you hear that voice, I want you to silence it.

Because I remember too well, that one night, when I confessed to God (finally)... that I didn't know if I was ready or not... but then I prayed that you would come if it was time. Somehow, I had come to a point whereby I could un-harden my heart if I wanted to, and realise that I could and did want to move on from the past. I did want to give God a chance, so to speak, trust Him and have a baby - regardless of how unpredictable my life would become. 

And then you came.

Many a time, we were afraid that you would suddenly leave us. We could hardly believe that you were here to stay... but here we are, just two weeks to full term. God be praised.

Fearfully and wonderfully made, you are God's miracle that unpacks to us joys that are far greater than those the pursuits of any worldly achievement or possession could ever give.

Thank you for blessing us with your presence.

Love,
Mummy (and Daddy)