Little Fingers

On Saturday night I was trying to get Jake to sleep.  I often listen to music with him or I pray the rosary out loud while he is in my arms.  Both seem to help calm him and help him drift off to much needed sleep.  Saturday night was no different and as I held Jake in my arms we listened to Celine Dion's, "My Precious One" as well as many other songs on her CD "Miracle: A Celebration of New Life". 

He way laying in the crook of my arm, snuggled down deep beside me in the bed.  He gently sucked the milk from his bottle and looked up at me.  He reached out to stroke my face.  I caught his tiny hand and held it.  I quietly rubbed his fingers and he rolled his eyes back and settled in. 

As the song played and I looked at my son I became very overwhelmed with emotion and thoughts.  I began thinking about how if something happens to me that he will never remember me, he's just too young.  He won't have memories of us snuggling in bed, listening to lullabyes and of me stroking his hand and face.  He won't remember me praying out loud for him, the soft prayers helping him to quiet down.  He won't remember me.  I started to cry. 

I have no doubts or reservations that bringing this baby into the world is the right thing to do.  I already love this baby every bit as much as any of my other children.  But sometimes the thought of not getting to hold this baby, not getting to sing to this baby, of some of my children not remembering me is just too much to bear and I can't help but cry. 

I was only 2 years old when my father died. I was older than Jake now and I have only two faint memories of him.  If something happens to me this baby I am carrying now will never know me and Jake, who is only 7 months, won't either. Oh how that pierces my heart!  I want my children to all know and remember me. I want them to know how much I loved them.  How much they meant to me.  How much I would give for them.  I want them to remember us laughing, playing, reading, singing, praying.  I want them to think of me making dinner and remember how irritated I would get as I was asked 700 times "what's for dinner?"  I want them to never forget sitting around a campfire in our backyard cooking s'mores, telling stories and laughing. 

Those tears that I cried weren't only for my children but for me.  I want to see each of my kids graduate, get married, and have babies of their own.  I want us to have huge family Christmas parties and Thanksgiving dinners.  I want my kids to be excited to come visit me and for us to come visit them.  There are so many thing I want out of life too.  I don't want to lose all of it. 

This cross seems awfully heavy to carry sometimes.  I know that I have others who are willing to help me carry this cross.  I know that Christ's cross was so much heavier than my own.  I feel blessed that He feels I am worthy to carry such a cross.  I know with my faith and trust in God that I will carry it in the way He wants me to.  Like Jake, my fingers are little in comparison to Christ's.  Just as I stroke Jake's and hold his hand, I know that God is doing the same for me.  That makes me feel safer and that I can rest in Him.