Friday, December 28, 2012

Moving Forward

It's been a week since we went to the doctor and were .... well we are still devastated.  I still don't know what to do with our Christmas cards and feel guilty for not sending any to all the families that sent theirs to us, especially since no one even knows what's going on much around here.  The hardest part is mostly over.  I'm finally sleeping at night again, I'm not crying every time I see Lloyd playing, I didn't collapse in his closet this morning when I picked out his clothes and saw the quilt I'd made for ABC laying on the shelf, I haven't had to leave the room to curl into a ball in a few days at least.  But my soul still aches for her.  

As usual it took a while for Coach to open up at all; he just wants to be strong and caring and my protector.  But inside he's just as hurt.  I always feel less alone once he and I have healed enough to even be able to talk about it.  We're both nervous about the testing results and I'm not all together sure how well I'll handle it if something very serious comes back.  Although the thought that nothing comes back is equally as difficult.  That's my major struggle right now, just the waiting to see the doctor again and feeling constantly anxious about this inconceivable testing that we had run to see if it's something preventable or just a painful but inexplicable loss.  Getting or wishing for answers isn't ever simple, and this is so complexity's hard to even explain.  

Supposedly they can tell the gender and if certain chromosomal anomalies come back the gender is important in explaining why.  I'm not sure if our doctor will tell us in order to prevent more heartache, but we both so strongly felt she was a she.  I knew Lloyd was a boy so I feel like my intuition is right, although we may never know.  I know what we would have named her, but I don't know if I can even use that name again should we have or adopt a girl in the future.  I feel like she'll always be a part of me, that she wasn't nameless.  

I've always been open (to the point of some people, I'm sure, not understanding why) that I've lost babies.  To me I have 5 children now.  I don't care that some never had heartbeats, that I never felt them move, or even that I was deprived of holding them.  They were ours, we made them with so much love.  We'd already welcomed them into our hearts.  I've never had to deliver them as some people have, and I think that's a kind of pain even I haven't known.  That in at least that way, we've been spared.  But they're still mine. Ours. I know some people view me as causing myself undue pain by viewing it all this way, maybe I am, but I can't help feeling it.  I have 5 children; 1 on earth and 4 above us.  

Christmas was agony, completely unaided by my not being able to sleep for days and only getting 2 hours that night alone.  Seeing so many babies and siblings playing together and watching Lloyd playing with his Uncles and Aunts made me leave the room so many times.  He deserves a play-mate, a special confidant that only a sibling can be.  I can't give up hope when I see him in situations like that.  I can't help but thing God wouldn't give me this sight so I could ignore it.  Already someone has asked us when we'll decide to give Lloyd a sibling.  "We'll just see what happens," always has been my response--even befre.  But he's already got siblings, in a sad way to me.  

Some don't think we should try again, some believe so strongly that our odds are so good (the doctors included--she's always so optimistic for us), and we're still here trying to heal.  This heartbreak continues to bring us closer together both as partners but as a family.  We hold each other closer, kiss more passionately, and snuggle more tightly.  But only time will tell what we decide.  I'm coming to my own conclusions but I know Coach takes longer with decisions like this; we're both also waiting on those awful tests we initially were so adamant at having done.  I just hope they don't make the decision for us. Although I don't know how they would.  But there's always something you haven't even imagined.  Especially at 28 and 31, we seem so young in age (gosh how many nurses told us that at the hospital: but you're so young to know so much pain) but we've gone through so much both apart and together.  Together we've gone through an incredible amount in just under 4 years of being together.  I know it's why people think we've been together so much longer.  

I just hope people stop looking at us and wondering why we only have one; we only have one because, for whatever reason, we do.  We want more.  But not everyone is lucky enough to live in ignorance.  We never take anything for granted; and honestly, it makes us better than most (and that sounds arrogant, but it's not it just seems to be the truth).  We cherish everything we have because so much of what maters has been taken away.  

So we're healing.  Slowly.  But together.  Always together. 
Post a Comment