When
I think about the month of February, it has been an emotional roller coaster,
unfortunately, with way too many lows than highs. It’s been a little over three
weeks since we learned about Easton’s heart defects, but just this past week,
we’ve learned about the potential severity of his particular defects coupled
with the fact that he has a left-side heterotaxy. Doctors seemingly reassure us that his heart disease was not
as result of anything we did or didn’t do, he just has it. I know that God
fearfully and wonderfully made Easton just how He had intended him to be, but
it doesn’t make the coping process alleviate the pain.
I recently told someone that I
understand grief differently now. I was always the one who didn’t know what to
say, so better say nothing at all, right? Or be praying for that person, but
never offer up that I was praying. I’ve learned in this grieving process that
the most encouraging words have come from those who have not been silent in
letting us know that they love us and care for us. I even love the messages
that say, “I don’t know what to say but I love you and am praying for you.”
I’ve learned that by saying nothing in times of grief, reminds me of the song,
“This Little Light of Mine.” In the song, one of the verses is, “…hide it under
a bushel…NO…I’m going to let it shine…Let it shine, let it shine, let it
shine,” and by me not publicly sharing and helping carry burdens for friends
and family, robs them of the pure joy that I simply love and care about them
amidst their strife. When I see a co-worker walking up to me with arms wide
open, or getting an encouraging word sent via text, or see a new notification
on Facebook, it honestly reignites the fire in my soul that I can keep going. I
can continue to walk this scary and unknown path with the help of others. It’s
been utterly amazing to see how God continues to provide me (us) with joy and
encouragement along this path and most of them are such simple gestures. Grief
has changed us, for the better.
Do I wish that the situation were
different? Absolutely. 100%. But I am growing and being stretched in
unforeseeable ways that could only be accomplished through this process. I love
that Easton’s life has already been used to bring glory to God and as his
parents, we so deeply desire for Easton to continue to touch the lives of those
around us. We WANT that happen with him here on this Earth, obviously, but
Stephen and I are aware that Easton is a gift from the Lord, not ours, but His.
Today wouldn’t have been an epic
closing of February without a trip to the hospital to check on our sweet boy,
who the staff said looked and sounded like a perfectly healthy baby, after a twenty-minute
stress test. It made me giddy to hear that he sounded perfectly healthy, as I once
again felt, like a “normal” pregnant mom. Easton is fine. His mom, however, has
been overwhelmed and stressed by the twist and turns of this month (I’m
currently resting, no worriesJ).
I was lying (or maybe laying…not sure) in the hospital bed (nobody knew we
went), and our phones were still buzzing from friends texting us scripture and
encouraging words for the day. Oh the love and joy that your friendship and
encouragement brings us! As this month draws to a close, we don’t have the
slightest idea how the rest of this journey will play out, but we are beyond
humbled and blessed that so many people are reaching out to say they love and
care for us.
February will always be a special
month in our hearts because it is one month of the year devoted to raise
awareness of not only congenital heart disease in babies but awareness for ALL
heart related complications and disease. If you ask me, in our house, every day
we will be grateful for the little tiny heart that continues to beat, even
though not deemed medically perfect, and forever be grateful for the impact
that Easton has had on our own hearts. Every day is heart awareness day in the Sparks
family:)
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