Abram Thoughts

I have always written to process. I think it’s wired into me. Because I know how many are so compassionately following Abram’s story, I wanted to share a bit of where we are in this “in between” time.

It is strange to be pregnant still. To have the same rounded belly, to experience the same pregnancy symptoms that remind me this was all normal at one point. It’s strange just to be waiting, hoping something will change but knowing how much smaller I am this time, how his kicks are still so light and understanding why that is. It’s strange not being able to change anything, take any action for him; strange to hear all the information that holds no easy answers, so we just ask again, like hearing it a second, third, fourth time will make it sink in.

And it does after a while. I know what we are dealing with is rare, but real. This placenta cannot get Abram the nutrients he needs; we know that the lakes within it will only make the flow of nutrients more problematic, that there are no factors that could be remedied to help make growth happen, especially at this stage in pregnancy. We know (and are okay talking about) the possible outcomes; we know many of the risks; we are preparing to face whatever combination of them comes in the next few weeks. I feel proud that Abram has survived this long, guilty that he has been dealt this hand, heartbroken that my own body cannot fix this. I’m relieved that at least I can be a shelter for him now, my belly a home where he can hear his sisters, hear his dad and me and our world and know how fiercely he is loved by all of us.

Some people like crossing bridges when they get to them. For me, it’s been helpful to know the bridges we may face, what they consist of, what to expect, and to come to terms with the many ways our December could go. We are lucky to have a care provider who has answered literally every single question or train of thought, at any hour, for any length of time we need. She’s cried with us when we’ve needed it; she’s laughed with us when we’ve needed it; she’s supported in more ways than I knew possible. I realize we’re also so lucky in that Sheaff and I have each other, and we both want the same care goals and quality of life for Abram in the time we have, whether that’s in or outside of my belly, and for however long it may be. Our whole family of 5 has leaned so much on the love and support of our families walking this journey with us, and a deep, deep village that has done nothing but love.

On Saturday, we were able to baptize Abram while he’s still with us, knowing we may not have the chance to do so later.  His sisters and cousin have all been welcomed into our wonderful river of faith (that means so many beautiful things to so many of our village), and I desperately wanted Abram to be a part of that, connected to all of us in that ritual. Our family all sat in the living room on the couches. Thanks to Anne, we were all able to say something to Abram, and those words we’ll treasure always. We smiled, we cried, we cast some sorrows and some hopes and our hearts into that river and let the love that has been pouring into it wrap around them. At least that's how it felt to me.

Some days are harder. Every realization of what’s ahead twists and cuts to the bone with grief that is hard to believe. Every morning I wake up wishing that this was not our reality, that I was just another mom expecting another kid with all the usual worries.  But every morning, my heart is soothed by the good that surrounds. We feel continually strengthened by the messages of love, by those who have also lost reaching out simply to share understanding, by the gestures that show just how much folks care. My students brought a basket to class for us, friends have sent cards, family have mailed letters, Marly’s name tshirt, 3 flowers on our table for Adalyn, Bria and Abram, offers to help with the kids, even the text messages popping in saying how much they’re thinking about Abram has made such a difference. I can’t name all the ways you all have showed your love from near and far, but we are so thankful for Every Single One.  It has moved us how many people care so much.

When your world turns upside down, knowing we are not alone, but most importantly, that Abram exists in the world, that his existence matters, that he is spreading love and compassion in such a short time is so healing. One of my old college friends said, “May his legacy be an immeasurable, irreplaceable love.” May it be.

There is always light in the darkness, and it will always grow. Abram isn’t the darkness; he is part of the light in this, and good will come from his life, however short it may be. I believe that. I don’t know how yet, but his story is important. My mom said, we aren’t waiting for a miracle – he is a miracle. And I love that he is a part of our family’s story – not the one we imagined, but our story nonetheless. As Jordan said, there are more worlds than these, and we will find glimpses of Abram “in the intersection of worlds, where happiness and joy leak from one to the other.”  There is much ahead, but it is comforting to know all of these things.

Thank you so much to everyone who continues to love, support and hold Abram close in your hearts during this time.