Days passed, and symptoms that I expected to feel immediately were simply not there. I snuck away and bought a test, several times, and the answer was always no.
I shared my dream with Jason, and together we prayed and hoped and wished for baby Benjamin. And it was always a yes, but my body still insisted it was no.
Months passed by with still nothing. Twinges here and there would give me a thrill, and then I’d test, and each and every no chipped away at the sure knowledge I thought I had, we had. Still nothing.
A year passed, then two, and with them went the hope of a yes, replaced by a heaping helping of logic and reason, with a side of emptiness that I could not explain. Still no.
I doubted. I doubted so much that I imagined I had simply made up this darling little boy named Benjamin with the pink cheeks and the sweet, heart-shaped lips. I had wished so hard for so long, so I must have willed this dream, these answers, this knowledge. I somehow willed for it to happen without the actual physical capability of growing a child. It had been eight years of trying with nothing, and two since the dream. Surely the possibility had been spent.
Life happened. We got lost in it.
We were fortunate enough to be raising two incredibly amazing children I had been blessed to give birth to, as well as two other incredibly amazing kids that we had been blessed to be given the responsibility of raising, so our family of six was thriving.
But the opportunity came for us to do some community foster care, and we welcomed two more children into the family. We were bursting at the seams, but these two kids needed us, and we wanted to be as much as we could for them.
Two weeks after the foster care placement, Jason became desperately ill and was hospitalized. His diabetes was wildly out of control, and an infection had taken root in the bones of his feet. We didn’t know whether he’d lose a leg, a foot, toes, whether it was in one foot or the other. His body was weak, and the doctors warned that had he not come in when he did, Jason would likely have died from his symptoms the very next day, so advanced was his infection.
After surgery and a nine-day hospital stay, he was finally released with both feet and a daily appointment at the hospital for wound care, IV antibiotic courses, and other check-ins. Doctors all agreed it was a miracle he had healed so quickly without amputation. And frankly, it was a miracle I survived his hospital stay. I was exhausted! Six kids at home, plus juggling my own work schedule, hospital visits, school, foster parent responsibilities/meetings, and the Thanksgiving holiday prep, along with just life in general. Each night I went to bed at the same time the children did, and each morning I awoke, even more tired than the next. The stress of Jason’s illness made me emotional and tearful and forgetful.
Or so I thought…
ICYMI, Part I here: http://jessaleelala.com/blog/ben-part-i-of-dreams-and-prayers/