Thankful...

This time of the year is sentimental for everyone. But it's really not uncommon to see me with tears in my eyes during the holiday season. It holds so much emotion.

I spent too many years sad at Christmas. I was always thankful for my family, my husband, the roof over my head, the food on our table and health. And I always knew that all of that is SO much more than so many people have. But at Christmas, there are reminders everywhere of children. They line up for Santa at the mall. They appear in sentimental commercials where they innocently sneak down the stairs to wait for Santa. They are adorable in the church Christmas Eve pageant. And our home was deafeningly quiet on Christmas morning. It was hard to be happy at a time when everywhere I turned I was reminded of the one thing that was missing. All I could do was wonder if it would ever be my turn to hold a tiny hand in the line for Santa; to make angel wings for the Christmas Eve pageant; to hear my child's laughter on Christmas morning.

And then three years ago on December 7, in a lab in North Carolina, 13 embryos came to be. Five days on December 12, three of them were placed back in my uterus. And five days before Christmas, my husband (who fielded all phone calls from the doctor to save me from hearing bad news from a stranger) told me that I was pregnant. Not for the first time. But for the first time the numbers looked very promising. The day before Christmas Eve he told me that the numbers were rising perfectly. By all indications, everything looked promising. And so for the first time ever on Christmas 2005, not even 5 weeks pregnant, I allowed myself to dream. One year later, on Christmas morning 2006, I had in my arms the most precious gift God can give. My infant son, perfect and healthy. And the memory of the prior Christmases, so filled with grief and longing, so filled with terrified hope, were as vivid as ever. The memory of pain will be with me forever, but the pain itself is gone. Now my Christmases include holding a tiny hand in the line for Santa, dressing my beautiful (yes, I am biased, but he seriously is) son in his Christmas best for Christmas Eve church and hearing his little feet pitter patter around to look at his presents on Christmas morning. And it seems as if next year we will add another little one to the mix.

So this season holds for me the memory of past hurt, the memory of desperate hope, and now a level of gratitude that can never be expressed with my feeble writing. Thankful... yes. So very, very thankful.