It was February 7, 2011.  My husband and I were going to Waco, Texas for his grandfather, Clint Murchison, Jr.’s induction into the Texas Sports Hall of Fame as founding owner of the Dallas Cowboys.  Burk was the eldest grandchild and had the most memories of him.  Family was heavily on my mind as I had seriously been trying to get pregnant for several years.  I had finished my second round of in-vitro after the first picture perfect one didn’t take.  Plus I just turned 40 and, to make matters worse, because of an accident they did not fertilize the eggs in time.  So the first try when everything was as good as it could possibly get I had about a 35% chance.  This time they said they would perform another round and cover the cost because of their mistake.  I asked if I even had a 10% chance and they said no.  But I will never forget my doctor saying, “I can guarantee you this:  if you do nothing you will have a zero percent chance.”  There I was, cold, huddled under a hospital gown, and holding Burk’s hand trying not to cry.  Those embryos were ours and I knew I had to try.  The thing is, after all my positivity, I KNEW I wasn’t pregnant.  I mean for several years I was so positive and this last time I literally had no hope.  Two weeks later I realized I had to go back to the doctor the next day to take a blood test to confirm I wasn’t pregnant — again.  The last time had been so hard and I dreaded going through it yet another time.  So I decided that morning to take an at home test.  Since I wasn’t pregnant I wanted to be able to drink the champagne the family was having on the way down to the induction in the party bus.  I took the test, set it on the counter, and left.  I truly don’t even know why I did it to begin with since I didn’t even bother to look at it.  Minutes later my husband called down, “Um Baby Doll” and I went back up to see what he wanted.  He was in the bathroom shaving and had noticed the stick; the dreaded stick that always came back with one line.  He was staring at it and I had honestly forgotten it was there.  And then, right before my eyes, an ever so faint second line started to appear.  Our heads knocked together as we peered over it in disbelief.  I honestly thought I had conjured it in my mind because I had wanted it so badly.  The desire for champagne flew out the window on the merest chance I could finally be pregnant.  And so the picture above is particularly special because it is the very day I knew my life had changed forever.  It was our secret and we were glowing.  Even after I passed my first trimester I was asked by the doctor who made the mistake not to tell anyone.  I could not understand why.  I had a wonderful, easy pregnancy with no morning sickness or complications.  *braggy mother alert*  After she was born nurses kept coming in to see the baby.  Convinced something was wrong I finally asked one of them why.  She told me that in all the years she had been a delivery nurse, she had only seen ONE other baby get a perfect 10 on their Apgar test!  A year and a half later we took Maris to show the staff and the endocrinologist.  Literally shaking, he asked if he could hold her.  I said sure and handed her over.  Cupping her cheek and, with a tear streaming down his face, he looked me straight in the eyes and said “medically this child should not exist.”  Then he asked if he could have his picture taken with her.  He also told me that he was Christian and he absolutely knew it was the hand of God.  He had been afraid for me to tell anyone fearing I would miscarry.  I had my precious miracle at 41 on my late father’s birthday.  She has my late mother’s name and her middle name is Grace because it is truly by the Grace of God that she is here.  She carries in her the blood of French royals from my mother, Choctaw tenaciousness from my father, Murchison history, and her daddy’s beautiful dark eyes.

For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition which I asked of Him. ~ 1 Samuel 1:27

Both of our families live on through her … and there is no greater legacy than that.  Achukma hoke.