Quietly overthinking

The only thing I can hear right now is the sound of my washing machine and Lydia trying to whistle as she rides her bike in circles on our driveway. The quiet is so so quiet.

Helen caught me crying as she walked in as I was writing my letters to them. I giggled a little as she always seems to do and said something silly like, “We show our emotions a bit more than you do, don’t we?” She answered with, “Yeah, I am emotional too but I save my tears for when I’m laying in bed.”

They all went to bed Monday night quietly without saying goodnight.

We stood at the edge of the security line, people bustling around us as the four of them and Mark and I blocked traffic and hugged once then twice. We said goodbye, and I am pretty sure I saw some tears on Helen’s cheeks through my own. She must have waved goodbye about 6 times after they walked away.

The six of us ate ice cream for dinner last night at our dining room table with three empty chairs. We keep seeing reminders of them which is a good thing since sometimes we all just pause and say, “Did that all really just happen?”

It did. And, we don’t want to forget any of it.

Though we may not make rice for a while.

Thank you to all of you who cared about this story,

who encouraged me in specific ways and cheered us on, calling out the good they saw so we’d be energized to continue to press on,

who sent hand-me-downs for Grace and gathered maternity clothes,

who handed me a gift card for groceries and the like,

who threw Helen a baby shower and came out for it in the snow,

who listened to me go on and on about “our” labor and delivery,

who made Frank and Helen and Caleb feel like they were at home and a part of an even bigger family.

They clearly are.

While our hearts get used to our new normal, our hearts are full for this family whose journey is still at the very beginning and for our even bigger family that we didn’t see as clearly as we do now.