Friday, March 20, 2009

Memorizing Matthew

Tracing the bridge of your nose with my pinkie finger and scrutinizing your lips, your ears, and your deep, black eyes, I am trying to stash every bit of you in my mind. Your squeaks and coos reverberate in my ears but I know they won't bounce around in there forever. I love you. So much. Your warm skin on my face when we're lying together, cheek to cheek, your fist wrapped tightly around my finger and the contrast of your perfect dark skin and my own milky variety, are things I am trying to remember not to forget. You don't know. You haven't got a clue that there is a battle raging for your little life. You are mine. Wholly. Entirely. I don't know how to put a price on that. And when your brother climbs up on me and states, simply, "Mommy's really sad." you have no idea the catastrophic understatement of such a sentence. You're not quite three weeks old and, if you are taken, you will never remember my face or my voice or the anguish I felt over losing you.
I know that life will go on. But how? How will I go on without you, knowing that you are there, living and breathing and being but doing it without me or your daddy or your big brother. We prayed for you for so long to have you for so little. Each day I try to forget about what might happen and focus on what will. You will be fed and clothed and loved. And next week, when your DNA is tested, you will be his. Or you won't be. If you are, we will fight for you because you are ours. Because you've been mine from the second you were born and I know your cries and your schedule and I've been up all night with you gosh darn it.

I want God's will and I want what's best for Matthew. But is it alright to ask for their DNA not to match? If you'd like to pray for that very thing, well, I wouldn't try to stop you. For now I'm just going to try to live each day. One of them at a time.

...Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day
Ive looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
Its life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all


  1. I cannot even imagine what you are going through. This made me cry. My heart hurts for you so I can't imagine what yours must be feeling like. I will pray that the DNA does not match. And that if it does...that the Lord will intervene and make this baby yours forever as it seems it is meant to be. Thanks for sharing what is on your heart.

  2. Oh Lori, your words gripped my heart. I can literally feel your gut wrenching. I am praying Matthew becomes yours no matter what the DNA outcome is. Keep your courage my friend, and look to Him, the greatest comforter.

  3. {Really amazing words offering comfort here}

    That's all I have, I am unprepared for such a time as this. We of course are still praying for everyone involved.

  4. I'm so sorry all of this is happening. I'm praying for you all. I wish we lived closer so we could be around to help, or at least distract a little bit...just be there with you.

  5. I am praying and so is my hubby. God wants the best for matthew and He also wants the best for you. I pray that His will be done in all of this.

  6. I'm praying the dna doesn't match, the legal junk ends pronto and that your sweet baby will be yours to nibble on forever.

  7. This baby has been yours since the day his birth mother wanted you to have him. No matter what happens, remember that. He will forever be a part of your family. None of us know how long our children will be with us. This is a reminder to me not to take one day for granted. Thank you for that. We love you guys and are praying, HARD!

  8. I'm praying for you to be able to keep Matthew, whatever it takes. I can't believe God would want any other life for him, especially the alternative.