Healing

I was rocking and feeding my son today, and in a soft afternoon light I noticed he is healing.  The bruises from failed IV attempts are yellowing at the edges and fading.  Enough baths at home have nearly erased the tape marks from his arms and feet.  The abrasions and bruising around his mouth from instruments to hold it open during an over two-hour surgery have disappeared, and the swelling in his face has gone down.  His smiles and giggles have returned, and are almost more present than tears.  He is quite literally more whole than he was before his surgery.

I had hoped that with his healing would come some of my own; but my sadness, fears, tears and guilt linger.  See, it was my body that made this happen.  My body failed him.  My body created the "imperfection" that has caused him pain, and the potential for heartache.  The intellectual side of me understands that I shouldn't feel this way.  I have heard more times than I can count that this guilt does no one any good, and that I did everything I was supposed to do while pregnant with him.  Yet I can't help but wonder if something I did or didn't do could have prevented him having to go through all of this.

This has all caused quite a bit of guilt over my daughter too.  My son has needed more of my time and energy lately, which has left less for her.  I've not been as available for nighttime snuggles, stories and puzzles.  Though she's never out of my mind, I've had to be physically absent more than I'd like.  I know she is young, and will likely not remember this time either, but I will.

So I just have to hope that as he heals, I will begin to do so also.  I have to hope that the strength I see in him will give me the push I need to heal myself.  I have to pray that he doesn't blame me one day, as I blame myself, and that he will understand I would have done anything to change this for him.