Lost Opportunities

I would be unreasonable if I did not, on occasion, think about what might have been.

During our stay in the NICU, and as I gazed at Jacob in the isolette chamber, I often thought about what things would be like as he grew up. Sometimes, I imagined us tossing a baseball while playing catch in the yard. Other times, I pictured him sharing a report card with Deb and I while bragging about the honor roll. The thought of him interacting with his big sister brought a smile to my face. Truthfully, however, those imaginations were often tempered by our concern that he would face significant difficulties in life as a result of his premature birth.

From the outset, Jacob suffered bleeding on the brain as well as several other physical ailments. The reality seemed to be that these conditions would hinder his growth and ultimately his ability to function “normally”.  I would close my eyes and dream of him spiking the football in the end zone. When I opened my eyes and looked at him directly in front of me, I could not help but turn my attention to our inevitable role as his lifelong caregivers who may very well be required to assist him with everyday functions, encourage him at every setback, and rally around him as he struggled.

There were many times that temptation set in – to hope for a swift and painless return to the Lord if the ultimate end was not going to be as I had dreamed. The guilt of having had those thoughts still weighs heavy. Even from the day of his birth, my enthusiasm for purchasing things such as baby clothes, cribs and car seats was lukewarm at best. I had a cautious, reserved feeling that we might be saying “goodbye” before we said “welcome home”, and so these items seemed, in a way, to be a waste of money. I was far more concerned with his immediate, foreseeable future which admittedly looked bleak. I feel shameful for those thoughts, despite my overflowing hope of a wonderful outcome.

[Y]et you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” -James 4:14-15

Despite what I call “grounded optimism”, I still dreamed of big plans, of big fun, and of a big boy. Now, as I sit here, I have a choice. I can mope about the lost opportunities to spend time with my son and to experience the wonderful bonding events so cherished in father-son relationships. Or, I can reflect on the time I indeed had with Jacob and the fact that his presence – the gift he represented – allowed me to dream those dreams in the first place. I choose the latter. And I choose to reflect on his gift each and every day and I choose to live as the Lord wills.