My grandmother, Eleanor, died on Christmas day in 1989.I was only a kid. Elementary school. She touched my life in a way that I have no words for. Elliot is named after her. She is with me always.
This year, my husband received a Christmas bonus. He has informed me that this bonus is not to go to any bills, groceries, or even heating oil. He wants to go shopping for me because I deserve a good Christmas.
Christmas has always been hard on us as a family because of my Nana's passing. We miss her, but every year she visits each of us in one way or another. She works her own miracles and tricks. She does things .... A light bulb blows, an ornament falls, my "broken" music box mysteriously begins to play....
Going through pcos and infertility.... Christmas is hard on many women with my condition.
So when my husband tells me I deserve a good Christmas I feel awkward. I have the son I was told I'd never ever have. He's here. He's alive. He's breathing. His eyes open. He's starting to smile. He clings to me. He knows the smell, sound, feel, and touch of me.
Elliot is MY Christmas bonus. He is (as I say to him every day) my love and my joy.
He is our miracle.
He is our miracle.
To Dr. Cetton -- the doctor who told us we'd never have a healthy son... I urge you to listen to your patients and to believe in miracles. They happen.
To Dr. Avadanian -- who told us we should really just give it up.... you were wrong. I urge you to listen to your patients and to believe in miracles. They happen.
To those who are doubting the existence of God. I promise you He listens. Believe in miracles.
To my son, my dear sweet little boy: You are my love and my joy. My miracle. My heart. My Christmas bonus.
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