A letter to Mason

Dear Mason,

In December I started this blog with a letter filled with my fears and hopes for you. So much was unknown then. So many unanswered questions. I was ready to get going and face our future and just know. But at the same time I just wanted to stay where we were with you tucked safe inside me.

So much has happened since then.

So much has changed.

You have gone through so much.

We have gone through so much.

We've learned, and experienced, and grown, and fought, and won, and we have become a family.

On the 26th we will be bringing you to Loma Linda hospital for open heart surgery to give you a chance at life.


Part of me is ready to just get going and get the unknown over with the rest me wants to take you a run as far away as I can and keep you safe tucked up against me.

It feels like we are right back where we started last December.

Like our own version of "Groundhog Day" only without Bill Murry or quite so many punch lines (and a whole lot more Dr appointments!). But, we hope, with our own happy ending.

Even though it seems terrible to even write this it's so much worse now then it was back in then.

Then you where an idea, a few quick movements, fuzzy black and white image on 100's of ultra sounds, with a name and a beating heart but you weren't you. Not yet.

But now

You are you.

With your big deep dark chocolate brown eyes that already seem wise beyond your months. That crooked smile that radiates joy and makes all who come anywhere near it unable to resist falling in love with you. Your will. Your stubbornness (just like your Mama!). The way you already look at your brother like he's a superhero and the way your whole body dances with glee at the simplest of things.

And you, globally developmentally delayed you, in a room full of people all bustling around, poking at you, testing you, a mass of confusion and movement.

You look around taking each person in turn, till you come to me. Then you stop. Although you do not reach, you can not speak, you can not hear, and we are not even sure how well you can see. You stop, and the look on your face changes, and everyone sees that you recognized me. That you know I'm your Mama.

Of all the people there I'm the one you focus on and everyone in the room gives out an soft uncontrollable "awwwwww" and look back and forth between us and the love they see there.

It's so much worse now. The thought of losing you.

I have constant heartburn just thinking about it.

Not the kinda heartburn that you can treat with Tums. Not the kind that travels up your esophagus with spicy foods.

No this kind of heartburn is this constant ache and pressure on the heart. It fluctuates as thoughts pass. Sometimes the pain so intense it about bends you over and your heart literally burns, sometimes just a constant low heat.

I tried to explain the pain to your Dad once but it turns out I didn't have to. He already knew.

He's been feeling the same pain for a while now.

The other night I had just given you a bath and you were laying there all shiny and sweet. You were giggling in your breathless way as I blew raspberries on your belly and I as I looked at you I thought simply I can not do without you.

and I can't Mason.

In just three days we will be handing you over to a man who will have your heart literally in his hands. He will open your chest, and stop your heart, and try to save your life.

And once again your Dad and I will have one thought

One wish

One prayer

One hope

Just two words

Come home

That's it baby. That's all I ask.

Please just come home.

We can not do without you.

I can not do without you.

Tomorrow we will go to Loma Linda for your pre-op appointments. I think we will find out what time your surgery will be. I will update the blog tomorrow with any information I find out.

Till then my very talented, and lovely, friend Becki from Becki Cloud photography moved heaven and earth to do a family photo session for us the other week. I couldn't love them more, or be more grateful to her for the gift of these photos.