It's dark in my house. It's mid-afternoon and sparse bits of light filter themselves through the slats in the blinds. A few weeks ago, I pulled up the blinds of the window in front of the medium sized cat tree. I remember thinking the light would pour in and surround me, completely encompassing me. Instead, it sort of tentatively crept in, as if it wasn't sure if it could exist in my home. 

I see it now, the light is beautiful, but with only one window open it seems to be casting shadows like doubt and fear. I'm not sure if the light isn't sure, or if I'm not sure I can accept the light, but it's there and it's shining in like a faint rainbow over the rain kissed skies. 

I think it's time to open up all the blinds. I'm not saying the shadow will disappear, I just think it's time to let the light in, and let in as much as my home can hold and as much as my heart can tolerate. Sometimes we have to decide to focus on the light, and accept the shadows for what they are, cast images of darkness. The shadows aren't really there, after all, they are simply the spaces in which the light has not and can not reach at the moment. I'm not saying it's easy to let the light in, the proverbial reminder of hope after so much darkness, I'm just saying today I'm going to open the blinds. Today I'm going to try to let more hope into my heart. 

This is the most hopeful I've felt since the loss of our first born son, and three weeks ago when I was finally brave enough to pee in a cup. I remember the shock and disbelief I felt as I watched a plus sign appear within seconds of dipping the test. It was the first moment I had felt true hope since our second diagnosis and second opinion for our son. It was also the first time I could also potentially believe anything positive could happen again after giving birth to a son I could never take home. All that seemed to permeate my soul then was an acceptance for such an incredible loss I could not avert, or change. I will always feel the loss. It will never leave me, much in the way I will never stop loving the son I lost, dear Alpha Lehi. 

That being said, I think it's OK to feel hope again now. It's been more than 6 months since the birth and death of my son, and I still feel that grief. I used to be the kind of person who would see meaning in everything, but after being told my son had multiple conditions incompatible with life....well it's impossible to put any meaning to that. There is no good reason babies should die, but there is every reason for a baby to live. Still, when his estimated delivery date arrived and I found my period had chosen that day to arrive, it felt like a slap in the face. I should have been busy having a baby or holding my baby, not having a menstrual cycle. I was happy to have a cycle, because that was the month we were going to began tracking our ovulation again, I just remember being very annoyed it had to be the same date my son should have been born healthy, screaming, and alive. I did track my ovulation, and I was very happy to see I had ovulated. That doesn't mean my fears disappeared, or I was opening any blinds, it just means I was glad my body seemed to be functioning properly. I'm not sure even at that point I could really let in hope. When my period was one day late, I thought, "Pfft, it will come soon and I will be sad again."  I remember being afraid to test as those missed days became three then four, I started to believe another miracle could happen again and I was so afraid of letting go of that feeling. 

I wanted to hold that feeling forever, and the moments of those days seem to stretch on as if they were days themselves. After four days past, I told my husband and asked when he thought we should test, silly really, most men have no idea the significance of several days late; his actual answer was that we should test in a month. That night when we went to a steak house I ordered my steak well done as opposed to medium rare like I prefer, just in case. I had also noticed a change within me, I remember seeing a baby and not looking away. I also remember thinking it was cute when it smiled at me. I distinctly remember seeing a pregnant woman on TV and NOT crying, I felt something different, maybe even perhaps the first bit of hope. As if the universe did not seem to be hinting me enough already that something was different now, right at that moment I was awing over a pregnant lady my cat sneakily crawled into my lap and began to purr. I looked down at her incredulously, she never did that, she always lays next to me, the last time she did that was when I was pregnant with my first. I let her stay there a little while then moved her. Not being dismayed, she crawled right back in my lap. The next three days became a struggle between her and I over the proper placement of her as a kitty in my lap. Finally seven days late, and too tired to move her yet again. I announced to my husband we need to test in the morning. 

I woke up early, peed in a a little plastic cup and stuck it in the bathroom cubbard and waited for my husband to return with a test. We he did I had him set a two minute timer, and then lectured him about how we may have to wait up to ten minutes to see the results, I think I was partially stalling. I also was not expecting a positive result, even after all the signs I mentioned and the signs I did not. I dipped, waited my 20 seconds replaced the cap and put in on the edge of the tub trying to mentally prepare my self for the longest ten minutes of my life and prepare myself for the emotions that would come from a negative result. I watched it intensely. Something seemed different, and when I began to see the plus sign within two seconds, I blinked and looked away as if I was hallucinating. The plus sign was there though clear and distinct in all its beautiful miraculous glory. I believe my exact words through tears were, "Oh my god. Is that real?".  My husband kissed me, and indicated he was not all that surprised considering all the signs. 

I remember the feeling of shock, and fear, and somewhere deep deep down hope and overwhelming joy. I walked over to where my cat was in the living room, she was sitting on the cat tree in front of the closed window blinds. Completely unceremoniously, I pull the blinds in and let the light in. I hugged her and called her a silly cat, and the first to know. It was also the first time I let the hope start to creep in.

More than two weeks have past. We had an early ultrasound that was too early to really see anything, although my doctor was pretty sure she saw a very very slight flashing of a heartbeat. Yesterday, we returned for another ultrasound. Low and behold, our baby was there flashing heartbeat and all and our doctor even seemed to think he/she was already moving around a little bit. I was so very happy for the reassurance of hearing the heart beat for the first time, and hopefully the first of many until we welcome him home. The early ultrasound had played on my already deeply seeded fears, but I had decided how I needed to respond to those fears right there and then. I accepted that all I can really do is move forward in hope, I also accepted how little control I have over everything. What I know for certain is I can make sure I eat healthy and not eat things that would cause harm to the baby. I can take my prenatal vitamins daily. Lastly, I can exercise to stay healthy by walking daily. That is the extent of my control, everything else I have to let go of and give it to God in this situation. I can hope and I can pray but I have accepted I have no more control over the outcome and that there are no promises. I'm sorry, but there's not. There is however hope, and I choose to let it in. I'm not saying these days have not been an emotional roller coaster filled with fear, dismay and doubt, but they've also been filled with love, joy, and hope. Although my emotions will come and go as they may, I am choosing to focus on the later. I cannot control the fears I am going to have, but I can hold on to hope. My grief is still there, my innocence is still lost, I still miss my son, I'm scared and afraid, I'm dreading my 20 week ultrasound, I've actually had nightmares about it, but fear, worry, and doubt aside I still feel hope, love, and joy at another chance to bring a baby home. Life is to be celebrated, and that's what I want to hold onto. 

The coincidence in the dates is also not lost on me. My new child's date being used, the first day of my last menstrual cycle, is also what should have been my sons due date. A part of me whispers that's like my son smiling down on me and watching over his sibling, the traumatized part of me is worried about things being to good to be true, but mostly I'm afraid of loving again and losing again. It is not easy to let the hope in again. The date still seems to linger in my mind like an unfulfilled promise waiting to be realized in the actuality of this life my husband and I have created within me. The truth is, all I can do is hold on to hope and take this journey one day at a time, and sometimes moment to moment. I know that being eight weeks and however many days, puts my chance of a positive outcome very high.I want so badly to take this baby home from the hospital in July healthy and screaming, but today I know I just need to get to tomorrow. Today I can take my prenatal, eat healthy, and go for a walk. Today I can decide it's okay to pull the blinds open. Today it's okay to hope.