Today I asked her what she’d like for her upcoming birthday and her response was “the impossible”. I beat myself up for a moment knowing that I know better than to ask that type of question. Knowing that “the impossible” is the very thing I desire and long for as well.
I know that she’s broken but she won’t allow herself to be broken. I know the depth and heaviness behind those two words in her response. Those two words mean so much more than I can express.
“The Impossible” could mean for this to be a terrible dream, “the impossible” could mean that we could turn back time, it could mean that instead of our babies being in heaven they’d be in our arms.
The impossible. Oh, how many times have I asked for the impossible? Too many to remember, too many to count. “The impossible” could mean a million things that will all give us the same results: to bring our babies home.
I’d do anything to give her the impossible. To mend her heart and fulfill her desires, to wipe her tears and give her that one thing, the one person she longs for. But all I can do for now is walk with her, hold her hand and her heart through this heart-wrenching journey. All I can do is reassure that she’s not alone, all I can do is have hope for us both.