One statistic that is mighty depressing: Most marriages do not survive the loss of a child. I knew this back when it mattered, back when we could have made the decision to safe guard our marriage and do everything we could to keep communication open and feelings shared and all that good stuff. It was highly recommended by those who loved us, but there we were...stuck. No one to watch our children (NO ONE..that's what happens when your circle shuns you for your choices...those that devastated you)....no way to get just the two of us to the place we needed to be. Plus, we had so many other distractions. A death in the family right after, a fall out with another, a decision to not adopt our foster children, college, work, homeschool...life....We'd be okay, right? I mean WE didn't die...just our baby. We'd be just fine. We'd beat those odds.
And we did.
The next baby came along and we didn't think about the last. He as a he. She was a she. Everything we did for her was for HER. Every outfit, every cloth diaper, every little thing we did centered around her being a her and enjoying this precious blessing that filled empty hearts and empty arms.
After her, HE came and that hit us hard. It may not make any sense, but when you're washing the he clothes for the first time since you lost him it's way, way different and emotions surfaced that we didn't love and didn't know what to do with. He came, and then 6 days later Jamie was off to his job interview and our new life a million miles away....new job, new life, new house, new everything....was the center of our focus. New beginnings, far, far away from the sadness we experienced. No time to think about the son we lost while taking care of the one we didn't. We were fine, really....
Then she came along and was and is the most precious, sweet, loveable baby we've ever had. Or maybe just that much more precious because once more, we skirted tragedy and ended up with what we wanted: healthy baby, free of defect or sickness...to love again. But this time around, my ultrasound produced a panic attack so heavy, it was hard to breathe. I just knew they'd find something wrong. So relieved when they didn't and so happy when she was born just as we imagined. And we were fine. No, really just FINE.
And now we're not and have to face the fact we never were. Because burying something that isn't ready to be buried and not properly prepared to be buried has consequences you can't see until those consequences are so huge that they can no longer be ignored.
And finally, maybe....no definitely, we really are going to be fine. For real. Forever. We needed help. We're getting it. We have sat on a cushy couch in a pretty office and been told we have an excellent marriage. I've been told that my husband is one of the most honest men our counselor has ever met and that he loves me more than most other husbands love their wives. And we've been told....to beat these odds says something about the strength of our love for each other and our commitment to being us, forever.
We have so much work to do. So many things to sort through and it should suck. It should suck more than anything, but it doesn't. It's real and honest and raw and for the first time in a long, long time, I feel like the world isn't this place to just survive...it's a place to truly live.