Forgetting and Remembering

We had a quiet Thanksgiving at home this year.  We didn’t want to travel with Hannah being only 4 months old, so it was just our family.  Daddy cooked an awesome dinner, right down to my yams made the way my mom does.  Even Hannah sat with us in her new highchair, even though it dwarfed her and she is no where near sitting on her own yet (it leans back so she was fine).  It was nice.  We talked to the kids and asked them what they were thankful for.  Each of them, of course, had Hannah on their list.  Then she was sitting there trying to grab at her toy on the tray.   It was like for a few minutes time stood still and I forgot she was sick.  Then, when they both mentioned Hannah, for some reason, it tore at me. 

I want the diagnosis to be proven not to be NPC or something else that is fatal.  Even though she is only 4 months old now, Hannah has become such an integral part of our family.  Kind of like the piece that was missing to make our family complete.  

Daddy and I forget sometimes she is sick.  We do things as life goes on, play with the kids, and just forget.  Then someone makes a comment, usually one of the kids, and it just hits me again.  Example…we were talking about how Little Girl A was going to start elementary school with Big Boy E next year.  She will be in kindergarten and he will be in third grade.  Then, Big Boy E said to Little Girl A, “When you are in third grade, Hannah will be in kindergarten with you!”  Daddy and I just looked at it other, and it was all I could do to hold it together.  Slapped back into reality.  We just go along with it, but it eats at me knowing that it could possibly not be the case.  Then I go back to “will she even be with us then?  If she is with us, what will her condition be?”

I like the times we can just “be” as a family without this hanging over our head.  I want a miracle, I need a miracle.  Being able to even just conceive Hannah, let alone bring her into this world, is just an absolute miracle after all we have been through.  It is almost like this is a cruel joke being played on us.  Almost like — ha, ha.  Three miscarriages and years of infertility treatments, heartbreak, and grieving for the biological child you couldn’t have weren’t enough for you.  Let me really mess around with you. 

It has to be something else… there just has to be another diagnosis, something treatable, as long as it keeps her happy and gives her a long, independant, and happy life.