Last night as we were getting ready for bed I noticed Zach had ventured down the hall and into the baby's room. I found him sitting in the rocking chair, just staring. He asked, "How do you feel when you come in this room?" I simply said, "I don't want to feel anything when I come in this room," but as I began surveying the empty crib, the folded up stroller, the dresser stuffed full with new clothes, and the high chair still in its box an enormous amount of fear crept into my heart. I began thinking, 'What if these things never get used? What if all this stuff we bought in preparation just sits here continuing to collect dust? What if this room will sit here in wait for a baby that never comes?' I started to cry, and cry, and cry until I was sobbing in the same way I had the day we found out we lost the baby. All the pain and sadness swept over me as if for the first time.
Finally I said to Zach, "What if we're one of those couples that never has children? What if God's plan is that this never happens for us?" The possibility of that was almost too much to bear. But then it occurred to me, when has anything in my life gone exactly according to my plan? Hasn't God tried to teach me this lesson of letting go so many times before? Why on earth did I think everything was going to run so smoothly and fall right into place with Kat?
Zach tried to be reassuring, talking about looking forward to the future, and all I could think was, 'We had a future. Caleb was our future. And now it's gone.' I don't know where to look from here. So many people have tried to reassure us that the right baby will come along and all will be well, but how can they know? No one knows God's plan for us but God, and it's the most helpless feeling in the world.
