Measure in love

9-11 is such a day of memories, stopping to think and remember the tragedies that occurred 13 years ago.  I was newly married, still attending college, and my husband came home from an early morning class and choked up as he told me to turn on the news.  We were both horror struck.  We arranged to meet in between our classes to be together a few extra minutes, it was just so crazy, and we wanted a few extra moments to come back to the safe that we feel with each other. 

Since Gideon's life, I have made it a point to count miracles and to really treasure moments and feelings.  I think that the two biggest things I have learned from this whole experience are that God's hand is there if we are looking for it, and that life and love are so precious, and I need to make each moment count.

Today, my 11 year old said to me that 9-11 meant more to him and took on a new meaning than it ever had before.  When I asked him why, he said that because of Gideon passing away, he had a better understanding of how people must have felt when they got a phone call from a loved one trapped in one of the towers, or when they learned that their family member had died.  He also recognized that it was different and probably worse, because they were killed instead of dying of natural causes, but said he felt like he could imagine the feelings a little better. 

Why is that a miracle?  My Ethan is not usually so good at putting himself in someone else's shoes.  He doesn't think that way naturally.  He can, but I was very surprised and pleased when we talked about it today.  I feel that Gideon's life and death have touched him in a way that is helping him to become a better Ethan, more understanding, more sympathetic and empathetic.  It is something I have been trying to encourage in him for years, and today, it seemed spontaneous.  A miracle.

Also today, I caught myself singing a beautiful song from the musical RENT.  Not my favorite musical, but definitely one of my favorite songs, and I haven't thought of it or sung it for many months.  I have some lovely memories tied with it, it was sung at graduation every year at my high school, and I remember as a Senior, preparing to sing it, and the feelings of being afraid of what the future would hold for me, but also being excited (maybe sort of like jumping off the diving board for the first time.)  

If you have never heard the song, and aren't familiar with the lyrics, this link has both.  Seasons of Love Lyrics on screen

As I hummed and thought of the words, it seemed like it so perfectly fits now, treasuring the moments.  Measuring Gideon's life in love, not in the number of minutes he lived (which was about 10805--he lived a week and five minutes.)  Remembering the way he died, the way we feel when we think of him, the miracles that have come and are coming because of his beautiful life.  His story will never end, and we celebrate and remember his life.  And the story of those who passed away on Sept 11th or any other day doesn't end with death either.  I LOVE knowing that death is not the end.  That helps me to function from day to day, when otherwise this could have been crippling.  We remember the love, we celebrate the moments and the lives they lived, and know it is not over. 

Life is precious.  It's so obvious in a fragile newborn, especially in the NICU, where a baby is hooked up to monitors and machines that ding and beep every time there is a problem.  Our bodies are so miraculous, so fragile.  God and mothers make a miracle every time a baby is born healthy.  There are a ton of machines that have been invented, and that work to help "finish" what a mother's body will naturally do for a baby when it is carried inside her to full term, but life is a miracle. 

 So on 9-11, I am grateful for my life.  I am grateful for the life of my family.  I am grateful for the security I feel in my home and community.  I am grateful for Gideon's life, for the precious 10805 minutes we had with him. (Truly minutes WITH him were less than that, because many of those minutes were minutes when I was sleeping, or at home, or in the other room at the hospital while I was recovering.)  I am grateful for the miracles I have seen and continue to see because of his short time here with us.  And I'm grateful to be able to measure in love, because his life looks much bigger when you measure it in the love that people had for him, for the prayers said for him, the miracles recognized because he was here.  His life continues to help me feel love more deeply, purely, sincerely, and more freely, even though I can't hold him anymore.  He is still very much alive when we measure in love that is still growing.