Lucky 13

It really is. Lucky. At one point, it really didn't feel like it. Like so much that our hearts were breaking. And a little part of our hearts died 13 years ago. But we've learned to live with that little hole. We've built up scar tissue around it. But it is still a hole. And at times it sometimes aches. It overcomes us with grief to the point that tears just fall. But we're lucky.

On October 22, 1996 we suddenly became parents. It was approximately 3 months before we planned on it. Baby Amara came. We couldn't stop the birth even with the most valiant of efforts. And she struggled for life. For three days we watched her try to live. And then there wasn't much hope. Her brain was bleeding and a choice had to be made. She died in our arms. And she's lucky. She struggled only three days. She went back to her Creator without sin. And her soul is safe. She's lucky.

The Chairman and I suffered deeply. But more importantly, we suffered together. We were cautioned to be careful in allowing this to affect our marriage. And it did. The sadness drew us to hold, cherish, respect, and love each other. And because of that, we're lucky.

We went through other losses. Four to be exact. And then as most of you know, we were on a plane to China. Our second daughter was waiting there. She was the balm to an aching, gaping hole in our hearts. She needed us. But we needed her so much more. She is lucky. But we are more lucky. Lucky for healing. Lucky for the chance to be parents. Lucky to feel the love responded to. Another two months. Another gift through adoption. A perfectly healthy baby boy. A strong fellow. An independent one. A smart one. And he needed us. But we needed him. We needed a son. A brother. And he is lucky. But we are much more lucky. Then the gift of carrying a baby to term. She never would be a replacement. She couldn't be. But she had every right to work her way into our hearts. To allow us to experience yet another way of bringing a baby into the family. Healthy. Spunky. And a gift. She's lucky she hung on until she could live outside of the womb. And she's lucky for siblings.

And today, 13 years later, we count our blessings. Not in a general sense. One by one. Day by day. We always remember this day and always will. The thought of Amara makes us thankful. And sad. Very sad at times. And lucky. We wish we could have known her. Who she would have been. What she would have loved to do. Where she would have lived. Who she would have loved. But she's ahead of us. Waiting. And safe. And lucky. And so are we.