We stood in the hallway alone on the Mother and Baby floor, waiting for the social worker to tell us we could go in. I looked at the walls-beautiful photographs of happy babies everywhere, no signs of the heartache and loss happening right beyond the doors. In moments we would meet the woman who had just given birth to her son and had chosen our family to be his parents.
It was quiet...almost like a holy silence filled the air. I looked at Josh. He looked at me. What could possibly be said? My hands were shaking and my heart was in my throat. And then, before either of us knew what to do or what to say, the silence was over and we were told we could go in.
I will never forget her beautiful smile. We sat down and it seemed as if everything was in slow motion. My head was foggy and my voice cracked; the gravity of the moment felt too real to take in...sacred. We were about to gain one of the most incredible gifts of our lives. She was about to lose the son she had sacrificially carried for nine months.
I remember it all so clearly...how we talked and laughed and awkwardly sought to know each other. But the moment that leaves me weeping each time I think of it is this: through her big beautiful smile, she asked, "Well, do you want to meet him?" Him. Her son. Her son that she gained weight for and lost sleep for and went to doctor's appointments for and went through labor and delivery for and answered questions about for nine.long.months. Him. The baby our family had been praying for and longing for. Our son. Her son. It was the only time she would ever be able to ask someone if they wanted to meet her baby.
Now, almost two years later, I still feel undone as I think about it. It is one of the clearest glimpses of selfless love that I've ever seen.
