"The Gift of Life" by Mae Giganti
Welcome to Real Life. Today's guest post celebrates the gift of life!
“This baby's not going to make it,” the doctor said with a twinge of regret. At least she showed a subtle feeling of sadness.
The previous evening, the house doctor had been uncaring and cold. Without making eye contact, he muttered, “You’ll probably lose this baby.” His bloodied gloves and the nurses' grave expressions should have indicated to me that my baby was in danger.
I’d known happier times. At four months, my nausea and extreme fatigue gradually faded as the kicking grew stronger each day. Seeing the image of a restless, growing baby on the ultrasound made her more real. I felt her dance inside my womb. How wonderful is the gift of life! Words cannot adequately express my sense of wonder. On Mother's Day, we celebrated this gift, now five months alive.
Then, I noticed a little spotting of blood. “Nothing to really worry about,” I told my husband. But, questions haunted my mind. Just as my concerns began to fade, the bleeding became more obvious and I felt cramping. My husband Vince sat on our bathroom floor dialing the doctor while I sat in a pool of blood. The small bathroom grew ever smaller as our fears closed in around us. Driving to the hospital, I slouched and stared out at the darkness. The dark night invaded our hearts, the heavy silence rarely broken.
On arrival, I was rushed into the maternity ward and checked into a birthing room. Four months later, this room would have brought excitement. Now, it brought tears and anguish. I was already dilated. There would be no pushing forward the hands of time.
Sarah Mae was born. Her frail body lay lifeless. “My baby, I want to hold my baby,” I insisted. The room fell silent except for my husband's sobbing. As soon as Sarah was placed in my arms, I felt complete. She weighed almost one pound and was twelve inches long. In my eyes, she was beautiful. Even her fingernails were perfect. How I longed for her to grasp my finger. I experienced a dimension of love I never knew until I saw little Sarah's face. It’s a love beyond description—no conditions, no demands. I simply loved her because I loved her.
Afterwards, I faced the dark discouragement of broken dreams and a maternal instinct unfulfilled. Not a day went by that I did not think of Sarah. My loneliness was more than simply emotion. My body felt empty. The emptiness reached deep inside and touched a place I never knew existed. I envisioned her being comforting at my breast. I pictured her growing into a young woman. I wept over these dreams that were nothing more than fantasies.
I thank God for his grace and guidance. He gives purpose to each life. I know Sarah is with Him now and I take great comfort in that.
EPILOGUE: My husband is buying me a mother’s ring. Standing at the jewelry store counter, the clerk asks me the months of my children’s birthdays. “May, June, October, February, and March,” I reply.
“Don’t forget Sarah, Mama! When was she born?” asks my daughter Tara.
“I didn't forget, honey. She was born in May,” I gently assure her. It’s interesting how much she misses a sister she’s never met, even eleven years later.
I have not forgotten my Sarah. I still remember her little face. Sometimes, I’m surprised by how much I still miss her. God has healed my pain and sorrow. But, he’s not erased the memory, now shaded with hope and compassion. It is this memory, this longing, which now brings comfort as I acknowledge that she is still a part of me.
“One day,” I smile at Tara, “we will see Sarah and get to know her. Won’t that be wonderful?”
Mae Giganti has written several booklets and enjoys using humor as well as complete honesty when tackling the issues of life. She believes in every situation you have a choice to "go through it or grow through it.” Mae is a mother of four and home schools.
“This baby's not going to make it,” the doctor said with a twinge of regret. At least she showed a subtle feeling of sadness.
The previous evening, the house doctor had been uncaring and cold. Without making eye contact, he muttered, “You’ll probably lose this baby.” His bloodied gloves and the nurses' grave expressions should have indicated to me that my baby was in danger.
I’d known happier times. At four months, my nausea and extreme fatigue gradually faded as the kicking grew stronger each day. Seeing the image of a restless, growing baby on the ultrasound made her more real. I felt her dance inside my womb. How wonderful is the gift of life! Words cannot adequately express my sense of wonder. On Mother's Day, we celebrated this gift, now five months alive.
Then, I noticed a little spotting of blood. “Nothing to really worry about,” I told my husband. But, questions haunted my mind. Just as my concerns began to fade, the bleeding became more obvious and I felt cramping. My husband Vince sat on our bathroom floor dialing the doctor while I sat in a pool of blood. The small bathroom grew ever smaller as our fears closed in around us. Driving to the hospital, I slouched and stared out at the darkness. The dark night invaded our hearts, the heavy silence rarely broken.
On arrival, I was rushed into the maternity ward and checked into a birthing room. Four months later, this room would have brought excitement. Now, it brought tears and anguish. I was already dilated. There would be no pushing forward the hands of time.
Sarah Mae was born. Her frail body lay lifeless. “My baby, I want to hold my baby,” I insisted. The room fell silent except for my husband's sobbing. As soon as Sarah was placed in my arms, I felt complete. She weighed almost one pound and was twelve inches long. In my eyes, she was beautiful. Even her fingernails were perfect. How I longed for her to grasp my finger. I experienced a dimension of love I never knew until I saw little Sarah's face. It’s a love beyond description—no conditions, no demands. I simply loved her because I loved her.
Afterwards, I faced the dark discouragement of broken dreams and a maternal instinct unfulfilled. Not a day went by that I did not think of Sarah. My loneliness was more than simply emotion. My body felt empty. The emptiness reached deep inside and touched a place I never knew existed. I envisioned her being comforting at my breast. I pictured her growing into a young woman. I wept over these dreams that were nothing more than fantasies.
I thank God for his grace and guidance. He gives purpose to each life. I know Sarah is with Him now and I take great comfort in that.
EPILOGUE: My husband is buying me a mother’s ring. Standing at the jewelry store counter, the clerk asks me the months of my children’s birthdays. “May, June, October, February, and March,” I reply.
“Don’t forget Sarah, Mama! When was she born?” asks my daughter Tara.
“I didn't forget, honey. She was born in May,” I gently assure her. It’s interesting how much she misses a sister she’s never met, even eleven years later.
I have not forgotten my Sarah. I still remember her little face. Sometimes, I’m surprised by how much I still miss her. God has healed my pain and sorrow. But, he’s not erased the memory, now shaded with hope and compassion. It is this memory, this longing, which now brings comfort as I acknowledge that she is still a part of me.
Mae Giganti has written several booklets and enjoys using humor as well as complete honesty when tackling the issues of life. She believes in every situation you have a choice to "go through it or grow through it.” Mae is a mother of four and home schools.
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