I’m really not sure which blog this post should belong to. Since it’s an emotional time of year for me, I’ll let it live here.
This Saturday will be my first child’s birth and death day. On September 28, 2012 at 11:13 a.m., my beautiful son, Henry, was born broken and sleeping.
Life has irrevocably changed.
I’m less patient and more patient. I’m less understanding and more compassionate. I’m less tolerant and more tolerant. I’m less hopeful and more pessimistic. Who I am doesn’t really matter. This doesn’t make much sense because losing a child doesn’t make any sense. Life is on a random-generating system, and I’m just a marble rolling around bumping in to things, trying to squeak out a living.
Tomorrow, on September 26, I will be celebrating seven years with Henry’s dad. Life with him does make sense, and the love I feel for him anchors me. I’m proud to be someone he chooses to spend his life with, which helps shine a light through my wretchedness, essentially making me lighten up and see life isn’t all bad.
A quick Google search will bring up items on there being seven-year cycles. Your body is new after completely regenerating all its cells, then there’s the seven-year itch, and seven is a lucky number, yadda yadda. Appropriately, this year is going to be our last September anniversary. On March 14, we’re getting married, giving us a new date to celebrate.
And finally, in one month, if all goes well, Henry will have a little brother. Someone who shared the same space he did within me, and will fill our days with a sleepy contentment that we can achieve parenthood together. A little blue-eyed, delicate human that we made and will raise in our own loving, quirky way. He’ll have a step-brother, but equally important, we will teach him who Henry was, that he’ll always have another brother no matter what comes. All of this just blows my mind.
I feel reflective, and only slightly willing to peer down the twisting path that has brought me here today. Growing up, I never wanted children. Never wanted to get married. But life shook and rattled me, making me change my mind and seek out stability, companionship and love.
All of this makes me so tired, and sigh deeply. Life is hard work. I’m surprised I’m not more of a hedonist, where I feel it’s okay to escape life and go live out my days getting drunk on a tropical beach, not worrying about a thing.
But it is what it is. Random situation generator, marbles, and all. Even after the death of a child – that horrifying nightmare, that thing that’s not supposed to happen – here we are, one year later. Waiting to see where the marble will roll to next. Hopefully not in some dusty corner.