A quiet Christmas tune brought comfort in a different time of year

This past August we got an early Christmas miracle with the premature birth of our second baby.  Ethan arrived on a hot August afternoon, weighing just over two pounds, needing assistance to breathe, and holding on to every ounce of life for the next two months in the neonatal intensive care unit until we were finally able to bring him home.

During that time I spent many hours in his room, holding his hand through the little plastic house, talking softly and telling him stories, and finding gentle ways to share my love in those four walls of a hospital.  But it occurred to me one day that I couldn't think of any lullabies to sing to him.  None of the sweet songs my mother sang to me would come into mind, and even the songs from church we sing on a weekly basis just weren't there.  

But there was one special song that ran through my mind over and over.  I would sing it to him, hum it through my tears, and think about each and every word as they flowed.

Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright….

This song is usually reserved for the cold weather months of December when we celebrate the birth of Jesus, but it brought me so much comfort during those warmer dog days of summer.

Holy infant so tender and mild….

Our little Ethan was not only tender; he was fragile.  His skin was so thin at birth, you could see through it.  His lungs so premature, he used a ventilator for a month.  His arms and legs were no bigger than my index finger.  His entire hand fit into Landon's wedding ring.

And I was scared for my baby.  I thought about Mary, the mother of Jesus, so much during that time.  Though she'd been visited by the angel Gabriel who told her not to be afraid, surely she must have had her moments when tears poured from her eyes, her stomach turned in knots, and the fear went all the way to her bones.  

Son of God, Love's pure light...

The youngest years of Jesus life are largely unaccounted for in the Bible.  Wouldn't it have been incredible to see those years through Mary's eyes?  She saw his first smile. She listened as he cooed.  He held her finger as he took his first steps.  She celebrated all of his baby milestones just as any mother does.  

God gives us babies to get a glimpse of His incredible miracle.  In our family, we've had two miracles with the births of our sons.  Every baby is a special miracle.  But we literally watched as Ethan developed inside that his little plastic house for those eight weeks, just as he would have in the womb.  What an incredible experience to view that miraculous transformation before our eyes.

Sleep in heavenly peace…..

But the greatest miracle of all came that night, over 2,000 years ago, in Bethlehem when a baby's cry pierced the night air, prophecy was fulfilled, and Jesus was born to save us all.  Because of that truly incredible miracle so long ago, I could rock my baby in that NICU without fear, without despair, and experience love's pure light.

Jesus, Lord at thy birth; Jesus, Lord at thy birth.

(For those who read my column in the Taylor Newspapers, this will be a repeat from the Dec. 22 edition!)

Due dates and donations

Yesterday, Nov. 11, was special for me.  I don't know whether to say it was exciting, heart-wrenching, sad, or happy, but maybe a mixture of those emotions.  You see, yesterday was my due date.

It's hard to believe that to deliver a full-term baby I would just now be holding Ethan for the first time.  It seems like it was ages ago that my water broke and we faced some of the most difficult days of our lives.  And from the moment that the little life-flight airplane lifted off the tarmac, Nov. 11 has been the goal.  Everything has been aiming toward that date.

There have been several days that were our own milestones….the day I was supposed to have a baby shower, the day I packed away all of my maternity clothes, the day I had originally planned to have my c-section (Ethan never would have been a November baby due to the c-section, but Nov. 11 was 40 weeks), so it's nice to see this due date pass us.  It represents a finality of "preemie-ness," to use my own made up word.  Sure he'll have a doctors appointment here and there that will be due to his early birth, but for the most part from here on out we're looking at typical growth, development, and maturity.  

So yesterday was kind of an odd day, emotionally.  To celebrate the day, I bought a little chocolate cake from the grocery store with birthday sprinkles all over it.  We each got a slice last night for an evening snack and celebrated our little miracle.  But as I went to bed, I couldn't help but be sad….sad for the heartache, sad for the pain our baby had to endure, sad for the stress.  I guess it was time, once again, to have a little pity party.

Then I got up with Ethan at 3 a.m. for a feeding.  I was exhausted and he was ready to party.  I changed his diaper, gave him a bottle, and placed him on my chest.  Even in the darkness I could see his big blue eyes peering up at me.  And I started thinking….

I thought about baby Travelle.  His mommy is on one of my preemie mommy boards.  He was actually born at a later gestation than Ethan but he has had so many problems.  He's spent months in the NICU and still has many times when his life is at risk.  He's old enough now to look around, recognize his mama, and give her a look to let her know that he's having a bad day.  But she worries because the doctors give her looks telling her that the day may never come that she walks about the hospital with baby Travelle in his carrier.

I thought about one of the mothers in Trent's class, whom I called to talk about a class party and ended up telling her about Ethan.  She then told me that she too had a preemie, but he didn't make it more than a few hours.

I thought about the message that was left on our phone one day while we were in Topeka by one of Landon's superiors.  You could hear the lump in his throat as he told of his twin boys who were born about the same weight as Ethan, how he understood the emotions we were experiencing, and how only one of their babies came home.

I thought of all of the pictures on my preemie mommy boards online and how the soft lilly-white skin, the fuzzy heads, and chubby cheeks of some of those babies can be overshadowed by the glaring tube that still snakes its way from nose to tummy, even in babies who are a year old.  

And I remembered:  even though Nov. 11 was my due date and Ethan arrived on Aug. 20, it all happened for a a special reason.  We have a special mission in our lives now that was totally unexpected.  Our hearts break for families who we once held at arms length because of our ignorance about premature babies.  Ethan and Trent will both grow up knowing how special these tiny humans are and will hopefully have a desire to help make their lives better.

November is Prematurity Awareness Month.  Prematurity doesn't discriminate.  It doesn't care what color you are, your religion, your political preference, or how much money you make. You can be super healthy or not, young or old...it happens to us all.  

The March of Dimes is a non-profit group developed to do research on premature births and help make their early entrance into this world a little smoother.  I really don't know if a "cure" to premature births will ever be found because there are so many causes.  But the moment we walked into the NICU, the March of Dimes provided us with support materials to help us through that time.

Ronald McDonald House is a special charity to us.  Two weeks before my water broke, I remember very specifically being at my parents house watching television with Trent when a McDonald's commercial came on.  At the end they explained that the little hands image on every Happy Meal shows that a donation is made to RMH.  Trent asked me all about the RMH, thinking that is where Ronald McDonald lived.  I gave him the short version and told him that it is just for families of very sick babies.  We would never have to worry about it.

Two weeks later I felt like I was in the twilight zone when a social worker came in to my hospital room, sat next to me, and told how our family would benefit from the Ronald McDonald House located just down the street.  Even in that moment, I still thought, "That's for other people.  My family doesn't need that!"

Now I look back on about 20 nights spent in that big, beautiful home located two blocks from the hospital.  I even had other options sometimes to stay at different places but the RMH was a quiet refuge for a mom and family who bounced around hospital walls with dazed looks, ate at a different restaurant every night, and wanted some peace and quiet to calm our spirits. 

It wasn't until all of this happened that I began to understand giving to charities.  If you have a desire to give to either one of these charities, whether it's a donation  you want to make for the holidays or just another time during the year, here are a few ways:

• March of Dimes takes monetary donations through their website.  You can donate any amount and dedicate it to someone.  Their website also has videos and information about their charity and how the money is used.

The March of Dimes website is:  www.marchofdimes.com

• Ronald McDonald House accepts monetary donations.  They also appreciate physical donations and volunteer work.  Right now on their website there is a section called "30 Ways in 30 Days."  It explains the various ways to donate your time to any chapter.  There are chapters as close as Joplin, Tulsa, Wichita, Topeka, and Kansas City.  You can either go to them to help or search through their various suggestions to find a way that you can help.  We saw donated furniture, toys, toiletries, food, and more at the RMH of Topeka.  Just keep them in mind the next time you have a box of your kids toys that are heading to the thrift store and consider donating them to a RMH.

We will continue to stay in close contact with the house in Topeka.  If you have donations to make, you're welcome to give them to us and they'll get to the right place.  The Ronald McDonald House website is:  www.rmhc.org

Since Ethan was ready to party this morning at 3 a.m., I couldn't help but party with him after I remembered just how blessed we are to have his little warm body in our home and in our lives, no matter what date he arrived.  So he and I snuck to the kitchen, cut another piece of cake, and celebrated life.  

Ethan's Homecoming Video

Ethan came home!

There aren't many fancy words or prose that can be used to share our good news.  It's pretty simple and yet one of the most joyous occasions of our lives.

Ethan came home!

We were thrilled last Monday to talk to our doctor and find out that the countdown was on.  She told us that if Ethan continued to eat all of his food from a bottle and didn't have any breathing problems, he was on track to be dismissed on Friday, Oct. 15.  She also warned us that many times one little problem can set back dismissal by a week, and that those little problems are fairly common.  So we waited each day, each feeding, each phone call to find out if he was still progressing with success, and he was.  

So Thursday afternoon Landon and I loaded up our van with all of the essential baby stuff, including the car seat, blankets, bottles, baby bag, clothes, and our own suitcases and headed north for one last time.  We completed several required classes and went out for dinner to celebrate.  That Friday morning when we arrived at the NICU, everybody knew what was about to happen because of the ear-to-ear grins we couldn't keep off our faces.  Ethan got a quick bath, was changed into clothes of his own, and was finally removed from the monitors and cords that held him in that NICU.

The staff came out to wish us well and tell Ethan goodbye, after all he had been a special guest for over 8 weeks!  And we left the hospital to drive home with our baby boy in tow.  

Now we feel complete.  Now our family of four turns of the TV, spreads a blanket on the floor, and stares at this little bundle of wonderment.  Now we play soft music and rock him to sleep.  And now, even with the middle of the night feedings, we all sleep.  

It's hard to explain our state of mind since Aug. 11 when I was rushed to the Topeka hospital.  We've had our highs and lows in life before.  This experience had those highs and lows, but it was almost as if we were in an alternate universe for that period of time.  And when we drove home on Friday, it felt like we were driving back into a normal life…comfort and stability.

To be sure, the first thing I did was unpack our luggage after numerous nights staying at different places in Topeka.  I emptied my cosmetics into the drawer in our bathroom, threw away the remnants of the travel soaps, washed every stitch of clothing in hot water, sprayed down the suitcases with Lysol, and tucked it all away to be used for a fun vacation someday in the future.

But for now we're leaving the suitcases in the closet and staying home.  For the time being, we'd rather lay on the floor, talk softly, and enjoy life as a family of four.  

Preparing for a homecoming

It's like the night before the biggest, dream vacation of your life.  You prepare all your clothes, pack the bags, double check tickets, count pairs of underwear, fill the cosmetics, and make sure everything is just where you need it to head out the door to your exciting destination the next day.  Then you lay in bed and worry about the things you may have forgotten, whether or not you'll make the plane on time, if the clothes you chose are the right ones, or the different people you'll encounter on your journey.  

It's like that, but so much bigger.  We're not preparing for a vacation.  We're preparing to bring home our baby Ethan!

Two months ago I was planning a fall baby.  I'd hoped to schedule his delivery sometime around the last week in October when Landon and Trent are both out of school for a few days.  But on a hot August day, 92 days before I was due, my water broke much too soon and a little over a week later we had a 2 pound, 6 ounce baby boy named Ethan.

Today, 55 days later, he has gained three more pounds, grown over two inches in length, learned to breathe without help from machines, digested food, taken bottles, and won the hearts of so many who have prayed for him, cried for him, hugged his family, shared kind words, and held him close.  

And we prepare to bring him home.

It's still a bit of a mystery exactly what day we'll bring him home.  There is a criteria he has to meet in order to go home that includes maintaining body temperature, sleeping in a crib, taking full bottles, breathing on his own, and several other rules.  He's accomplished most of these and the last few are close.

So we know we're close too.  We're close to choosing the perfect outfit for the ride home.  Close to packing his tiny little body into a car seat and gingerly taking curves on the highway to get home.  Close to showing him the nursery, his brother's room, our living room, and his new home.  Close to 3 a.m. feedings that we haven't been able to participate in thus far, baths with soft wash cloths and yummy smelling baby soap, snuggling on the couch with our little boys as we watch a football game, and watching the simple yet miraculous act of him inhaling and exhaling that sweet baby air.  

It's similar to that dream vacation, but oh, so much bigger!.  We've packed the bags, picked out the clothes, filled out the paperwork, and made sure everything is lined out just as it should be.  But our journey isn't a quick, one week cruise or a moment on a sandy beach.  Instead it's a lifelong journey that will surely have some challenges, yet  it will be overflowing with love and laughter.  Continue the journey with us, dear friends, as we continue to share our story coming to life.  

Suck, swallow, breathe...

This afternoon I gave Ethan a bath in his hospital room, rubbed him down with lotion, wrapped him in a warm blanket, and sat down to attempt to bottle feed him, which is a task he hasn't quite mastered.  Preemies aren't born with the "suck, swallow, breathe" reflex coordinated.  They can suck, swallow, and breathe, but not all at once.  

After a minute or two of trying him with the bottle, his body went limp, the color out of his face, milk poured out of his mouth, and alarms started sounding to alert the nurses to come help.  We repeated this scene about three times in 10 minutes.  It's "perfectly normal" for preemies to experience these apnea and bradycardia attacks, but that still doesn't keep this mama from feeling scared, sad, and helpless in those moments.

But those trained, skilled nurses came to his rescue in such a calm, gentle manner.  They were reassuring and tender in their approach, and now an hour later he is breathing steadily, has a full belly (through the feeding tube), and is sound asleep.

Surely God looks down at us sometimes and wonders when we're going to get the "suck, swallow, breathe" reflex.  He feeds us the best quality, nutrient rich, life saving formula that is filled with love, joy, peace, and all of the other good stuff.  Yet we choke and sputter on it, sometimes even forgetting to breathe when He is offering us food.  

Our immature hearts must grow and develop in order to take what He gives us, allowing us to become the men and women of God that He created us to be.

Someday soon our little baby is going home with us and on that day he'll be eating from a bottle like a champ.  And at some point he'll move on to regular milk, baby foods, and eventually join us at the dinner table with our own home cooked meals. 

We've had baby foods, milk, and solids, but there are moments in this season of life where we must close our eyes, fully trust God, and remember to "suck, swallow, and breathe."

The little joys that shine so bright

You know when you have an overall good week but a few bad things pop up and that's all you can focus on?  Well, that was my week.

On Thursday I met my Dad for lunch at a local restaurant and we happened to be seated next to a family with a brand new baby boy.  Most people would find that sweet and exciting to see the little baby.  It was heartwrenching for me to hear his cries and see them pass the baby from one person to another.  I came home, sobbed, and decided as long as that was the mood, I would pack my maternity clothes away.  This was a huge hurdle for me.  I can't explain why, but just knowing I should still be wearing those clothes that protect the body that should be still carrying baby Ethan, well, it's just a tough one.  So next time I think I'll just shove wood chips under my fingernails for the same effect.

Over the weekend we had several little "hiccups" at the hospital that caused me frustration, anger, tears, and every other emotion on the rainbow.  But yesterday afternoon I was reading the wise blog of a friend and saw that she too had a rough situation at hand.  But instead of throwing a big fit (which tends to be my solution), she focused on the wonderful little things that make the world so bright.

What an inspiration!  So I thought about all of the amazing moments we had in the past several days.

- Trent jumping into my arms and just about knocking me onto the sidewalk after school when I picked him up.

- Ethan moving his eyes from one blurry form to the other, knowing that one is Mommy and the other is Daddy.  

- Watching his little angelic lips as they create an involuntary smile when he's sleeping.

- Feeling the cool north breeze as it blows in some of the first winds of autumn.

- Seeing the pictures of a friend who had a milestone birthday and charged through it with pride and a smile.

- Sitting down with my husband for a real dinner date over the weekend while visiting Topeka.

- Receiving text messages, emails, and Facebook posts from friends who are offering their hearts and so much more to our little family while we face some of these problems.

- Listening to football on the radio and rejoicing in the hometown win.

- The smell of Ethan's baby lotion as I rubbed it all over his tender skin.

- Knowing that just a few more days and weeks, and then we'll have an amazing homecoming with our sweet baby boy.

The list could go on forever.  So why is it that our minds focus on the few bad things in life, as if they outweigh the continuous joy we experience?  I can't commit to always focusing on the good, because we'll certainly have times where the darkness seems to drown out the light, but with a few deep breaths and a prayerful heart, I know that the joys will outshine any heartache that comes into our path.

Ethan's One Month Video

One day...

One day this season will be behind us.

…our lives won't consist of driving 135 miles one way to see our son.

… our hands won't be dried out from the continuous use of hospital soap and antibacterial foam.

…we'll eat home cooked meals around our dinner table rather than choosing a different restaurant for every meal.

… we'll delete the NICU phone number from our cell phones.

… the microwave will beep and won't remind us of the alarms and monitors connected to our baby.

… we won't buy a toy each time we go to Wal-Mart with our 5 year old just because we feel guilty for being away from him so much.

…our friends will remember what we look like.

…we'll be home on the weekends and be able to return to church and feel the embraces of our church family.  

One day the tidal waves of happiness, sadness, anger, guilt, frustration, and euphoria will pass.

… I won't have to stifle the cries and tears that come so unexpectedly like at the dinner table, in the check out line, or at night when everybody else is asleep.

…the clerk at the Marriott will forget my name that she knows so well now.

… I'll see a healthy, full-term baby and not feel jealous.

… I won't center my evening around calling the NICU nurse to get a nightly update on my baby.

….we won't measure weight gain in grams.

…I'll watch the nightly news and actually process what they are saying.

…I'll find the strength to pack away my maternity clothes, including the ones I never got to wear.

Then one day we'll pack a bag and tighten the seatbelt around an empty carseat before driving north.

…we'll practically skip into the hospital as we prepare to bring our baby home.

…we'll shed some tears as we hug the nurses and doctors that have become like family and have cared so dearly for our Ethan.

….we'll walk into our home with the other pea in the pod that will make our family complete.

And then all of those "one days" will turn into weeks, months, and years….

And one day the baby that seemed so tiny and fragile will get the sweetest little fat rolls that will turn into healthy skin of a little boy, and eventually into the muscle of a man.

…his tender fingers that curl so snuggly around mine will grow large, rough, and strong.

…his tiny cries will change to babble, then words, and the voice of a gentleman.

…I'll let go of his hand as he walks into school the first day and will blink twice to see him cross the stage for graduation.

One day his heart that we will so carefully and prayerfully help shape as he grows will become his own.  He'll make his own decisions, fall in and out of love, and hopefully choose the right paths in life.

….he'll need us, love us, befriend us, think we're dumb, get mad at us, and come back around to love and need us again.

…he'll have babies of his own and will realize what an amazing miracle they are, no matter how big or small.

Though those "one days" seem to drag on right now, they'll snowball.  And before our very eyes, our babies grow into children, and those children into adults.  We can't slow the calendar, but we can sure enjoy those moments, precious seconds that create those "one days," and trap them in our memory forever.

Even as fast as the sands of time slip through our fingers, we still get to take them one day at a time.

The internal battle of motherly instinct

Some people call it motherly instinct, for others it's learned habits from generations before, but not matter what you call it, most females have an innate ability and desire to nurture their children.

For mothers with NICU babies, that instinct is squelched.  Sure, the NICU facility goes to great lengths to help parents feel like they are helping with their children, and there are some times that our presence there is helpful.  But the challenge facing every NICU mother is allowing the medical staff to do what they think is right for your baby while you feel an inner desire to help him yourself.

Today I'm feeling that challenge.  Ethan had a setback today.  It was nothing major and we continue to count our blessings, especially as our eyes have become more open to the world of preemie babies and the challenges that many face.  But still…he's our baby, so even minor setbacks are painful.

Ethan's little body decided today that it was tired of digesting…a job that he shouldn't have had to do at this point anyway.  Because of his digestive issues, he had a few breathing issues too.  So after increasing his settings on his CPAP machine, two x-rays, and a new IV, he seems to be doing fine.  All tests were clear and they are giving his digestive track some time to rest tonight by just giving him nutrients through the IV.

But the hardest bit of news for me today was that he cried.  He didn't cry because he was getting his diaper changed, or they had to do a blood draw, or he didn't like the position he was in.  He just cried.  

How can I not feel like he was crying for his mama?  How do I squelch the desire to reach in his warm isolette, pull off all the tubes, wrap him in a blanket, and gently rock him to sleep?  Even though I've been told that preemies with tummy problems need to be left alone, why do the words of older, wiser women in my life ring in my ears and make me want to massage his little tummy?  How do I keep my van from heading north tonight, even though I know that there is nothing I can do by being there?  

Don't get me wrong…we have complete confidence in the staff overseeing his care and know that he continues on the road to good health.  But tonight I have this overwhelming desire to yell out the window to anybody that will listen, "Mama knows best!"  Call it intuition, instinct, or a learned skill, but tonight it is tearing me apart because it's the first day that my baby cried for me.  

Her purpose was to offer a hug

The day we left Ethan in the NICU for the first time we were inconsolable.  The front desk nurse needed to take my picture for security reasons and it took me 45 minutes just to be able to calm down enough for the photo.  I watched as parent after parent would check in at the desk, discuss friendly topics with the desk nurse, talk on their cell phones, and move in and out of the NICU without the up and down swells of emotion we were feeling.  That calm peace that those parents exhibited was so far from our reality at that moment.

But this week we seem to have turned a corner.  Oh, trust me I still tear up and fall apart at random moments.  But as I left the NICU the other day, I held my head high, said a prayer, and walked out tear-free.  

It was a sweet personal victory.  I felt like I could start counting myself as one of those parents I saw on that first day.  

As the emotions begin to even out and the hormones start to get a bit more level, it is becoming apparent to us that there is a bigger purpose to this bump in the road of life.  We aren't sure what it is right now, but we're eagerly looking to the future to figure it out.  

For sure, I'll continue to enter that NICU each time, check in, and at the same point in the hallway, I get a lump in my throat.  By the time I see room 242 with a sign on the door we made that says "Ethan's Room.  Sweet little baby boy…," the tears flow freely.  Every time I reach in his little plastic crib and he wraps his tiny fingers around mine, my heart breaks over and over.

But I'm aiming to be the calm and focused parent, just as the lady we met on the elevator when we left that first day.  She asked about our baby and said she had a baby in the NICU.  She remembered the first days when she too cried all the time.  But she promised that better days were ahead and offered a hug to send us on our way.

What a blessing she was that day, and I continue to hang on to her words and feel her embrace.  She doesn't realize that was her purpose that day.  I just hope we are able to offer that same comforting embrace in our bigger purpose.

The stomp your feet and pound your fist pity party

We had our first care conference today.  It's exactly what it sounds like….those who care for your baby while in the NICU, along with the parents, gather around a conference table and discuss his current condition and future goals.  It was so encouraging to sit with the neonatologist, nurse practitioner, charge nurse, social worker, and discharge nurse, all telling us how well Ethan is doing and what a sweet baby we have.  

But it was also incredibly overwhelming.  We started at his head and talked all the way down to his tip-toes.  I got to the eyes and got a lump in my throat.  Around the chin, I shifted in my chair a few hundred times.  By the time we'd reached his lungs I was fully engulfed in tears.  

When you have a baby in the NICU, it feels like you've been transported to another planet.  Unfortunately we haven't been working with NASA for years and were not prepared for this trip.  And when we arrived on this planet, we found out we had to learn a new language and way of life in about 30 seconds.  

We've learned all about bilirubin counts, nasal cannulas, gavage feedings, Kangaroo care, bradycardia, CPAP, and preterm risks.  I hold my baby in my arms and as wonderful as that moment of bonding is, I also continually watch the monitor to make sure that he continues to breathe and his oxygen levels don't drop.  

Oxygen saturation…purple number…85, 93, 95, 87, 88, 94…..good boy.

Heart rate…green number…..151, 152, 149, 149, 155….keep it up, Ethan.

I kept thinking to myself in that conference room today, "I didn't want to know this.  This is the kind of stuff you see on commercials with some weepy Sarah McLachlan song in the background.  This isn't supposed to be a conversation with Landon and Jenny Diveley!"

When they told us how full-term babies receive their immunities, proteins, and iron in the last six weeks before birth, it broke my heart to know that Ethan now has to receive those from an outside source.  When they shared the risks of RSV to a preterm baby after they go home, it made me want to put a bubble around our house.  When they shared how safe the blood is that they use for transfusions (if Ethan would need one which is not likely at this point), I wondered if this experience will prompt us to help others in the future by donating blood, time, and money to those organizations who need these so bad.

It was in that conference room that I wanted to stamp my foot and say, "Why?  Why do we have to hear this?  Why do we have to face some of these issues?!?!"  I just wanted to have a full-blown pity party.

Then we returned to Ethan's room and I watched as Landon was able to hold our baby for the first time.  His massive but gentle hands cradling Ethan so carefully as not to break him, but so strong to let him know he'll protect him.   

All was well with the world again.  Peace was restored.  Our own heart rates calmed.  The pity party was over.  And Ethan is worth every fear, every tear, every moment of heartache, because we know that there is a promise at the end of the rainbow.  One day, very soon, we'll bring that promise home.