The blessing of children

Saturday 10 November 2007

One and a half years ago at an engagement party, one of my good friends shared with me the exciting news that she was pregnant again.

I congratulated her, of course, and indeed, I was truly happy for her. Although I cannot recall the exact details of our conversation, I do remember clearly one particular thing that she said.

“Children are a true blessing from God,” she reflected.

Naturally, I agreed with her, but in retrospect, I did not and could not have fully appreciated the truth of her statement.

When Rick and I got married more than three years ago, we had already discussed how many children we wanted. He wanted three because he himself comes from a family of three children: he’s the oldest, Sue is two years younger than him and Jess is two years younger than Sue. I also wanted three because I grew up an only child and had always felt that it would be ‘nice’ to have more children. Three seemed to be a good number: two children didn’t feel ‘enough’ and four children seemed ‘too many’.

We’d also talked about when we wanted to start trying. Again we were in agreement, as we both felt that it would be good to start trying after two years, when Rick would be finishing his first year at college.

And so we waited until November last year.

However, by December, I had started to get ‘cold feet’.

What if I wasn’t ready to be a mum yet? What if I just treated the baby like another ‘project’ of mine? What if the timing wasn’t right? Should we wait for another half a year?

But were these my true fears? If I had to be utterly and shamefully honest with myself, was I not hesitating primarily because of my selfishness?

I was worried about my freedom. I was worried about my life. My plans. What I wanted to do. It was all about me.

As I look back now, I feel utterly appalled and ashamed of every single selfish thought that I had.

What was wrong with me? How could I possibly think that way?

If it was possible, I would shake that old self of mine and force her to see the absurdity of her thoughts. I would do whatever it took to make that younger version of me realise how ridiculous it was to fret over my life and my plans…

There is nothing that I wouldn’t give up now to have Cameron back so that I can have the chance to look after him.

There is nothing I want more than to be a mother to Cameron. I yearn for him, my heart cries out for him.

I yearn to feed him, to hold him, to bathe him, to change him, to sing lullabies to him.

Given half a chance, I would eagerly stay up all night with Cameron if he needed me to. Given half a chance, I would willingly spend all my time breast-feeding him, looking after him myself as much as possible.

I long desperately now for all my time to be taken up by him, for my days and nights to be filled with the joy of being a mother to him.

When we came home from the hospital that horrific Saturday night after finding out that Cameron had died, Rick and I both thought independently to ourselves that we never wanted to go back on the pill again. Instead, we both felt that we wanted to have as many children as possible – as many as God would like to give us.

Only now in the wake of Cameron’s death do I fully appreciate that children are indeed a precious, precious gift from God.

Only now after Cameron’s died do I realise just how much I desperately long and yearn to be a mother.

Only now do I truly understand just how much children are meant to be a part of marriage.

I feel deeply saddened by all those times in the past when I thought of children as being a burden or an inconvenience. How selfish and wrong I was.

Thank you Cameron, my dear little boy. Because of your life and death, I will hopefully be a much better mum to your future brothers and sisters than I otherwise would’ve been. How I love you and miss you and long for you. How I wish that I could look after you and take care of you now. I think about you every moment of every day.

I will never, ever forget you. You were, and still are, a true blessing from God.