The "club" grows ...

This morning I overheard my co-workers talking about a local radio personality who had been eagerly awaiting the arrival of his second daughter.

But, then, my colleagues' conversation took the turn I never expected it to take: the parents had lost their baby girl.

This news rocked me to the core. I don't know these parents personally, but the father is part of an afternoon radio show that I faithfully tune in to every afternoon while making my way home. He and his wife were expecting at the same time as Mike and I were in 2005, and then coincidentally, again this year. I enjoy hearing this DJ's stories of his three-year-old daughter, as it always give me a reference point to dream about what Ryan would've been doing if he had lived. And, along with many other devoted listeners, I was on pins and needles while awaiting the latest update on the baby's arrival. I just wasn't prepared to hear this outcome, even though I personally know it does happen.

When I hear news like this, it's hard not to remember all the raw emotion that I felt when Ryan died. Those first few days afterwards are nightmarish. Denial, fear and panic rush in and out of your mind at record speed, all while trying to make sense out of something that makes no sense. It feels as though you're moving in slow motion, while the world around you whizzes by, oblivious to your loss and confusion. You wonder if you'll collapse from the burden of the now-heavy heart you carry.

They are beginning a journey that no one should ever have to take, and I wish I could do anything to ease their pain.

Please, keep them close in thought and prayer as they make their way down this difficult path.

May God bless you and keep you, angel Grayson.

Who's still with me?

Sorry to leave you all hanging with last week's teaser entry. I just didn't want to jump the gun by sharing the thoughts in my head before I talked to Mike to get his take on things.

So ...

We both decided that we're not quite ready to give up on our dream of giving Ryan a biological sibling.

I know, I know. You must be thinking, "Would she make up her mind already?!" I apologize for being wishy-washy, since I'm usually very content in my decisions and choices and rarely renege.

But, choosing to hang on to hope that we'll have another baby is a valid reason to reconsider our decision to adopt. Right?

I kept having feelings of doubt about whether I was ready to move on to adoption. I guess that's a perfectly natural way to feel, but I just haven't been able to wholly embrace the thought of adoption. I can't tell you why I can't accept adoption, but I just can't right now. My heart is telling me that the time isn't right just yet.

This reassessment of our decision came about after Mike and I went out for dinner and were talking about his mental health and what things we could do on our own to aid in his treatment. (Surprisingly enough, we have some very open and honest conversations over dinner ... at restaurants.)

I, point blank, asked him what it would take to make him feel better about everything in our life. Without a moment of hesitation, his reply was, "For you to be pregnant ... but no pressure or anything."

So, his response sparked a new conversation - one where we decided that neither of us is ready to give up trying for another baby. He wasn't ready to jump back into the craziness of fertility treatments, which is completely okay with me because I wasn't ready for that, either. But, he has faith that we can do it on our own; our time just hasn't come yet.

Admittedly, my own faith was renewed a bit last week by the news that a dear friend is expecting twins. She's experienced fertility obstacles similar to my own and lost her sweet baby boy, too. Yet, she became pregnant on an unmedicated and unmonitored cycle! Yes, miracles do happen!

How can an outcome like that not have a positive effect on someone like me? She's living proof that until my doctor says otherwise, I still have a chance, too, of having another baby. I can't turn my back on that possibility yet. I just can't.

My fertility window may be slowly closing, but it's open enough that a miracle can squeeze through when I least expect it.

Here's to the return of hope ... cheers!