"You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." -Counting Crows

Why We're Here...

My husband David and I delivered a stillborn Baby Boy that we loved, and wanted. Our first and only son, Logan, had Down Syndrome. Our daughter's smile is a little light in the darkness. She turned one year old three days after our sweet Logan tip-toed away on January 24, 2009. After 2 1/2 years we found out we were having another baby, whom we affectionatly called Rudy. Just shy of 6 weeks we found out Rudy was Ectopic. Rudy was surgically removed on May 26, 2011 delivering another blow to our already broken hearts.

"The first time anyhow." and "What are the odds?"

My dad finally came to meet my daughter, thirteen months and one dead little brother into her life. Yes, I’m bitter, resentful and full of hatred. Upon seeing his granddaughter for the first time (did I mention she was thirteen months old?) he said “Well kids, you’ve done good!” and my first reaction and immediate response was “The first time anyhow”. Why? Why is it that I say those things? Why is it that I try so very hard to find the humor in my son’s death? Obviously there’s nothing funny about it at all. Maybe I like the look of horror I usually get. I’ve always been one for reactions. Maybe I want people to feel the horror that I carry around. Maybe I’m trying to convince myself that it wasn’t as big of a deal as it really was that I don’t hurt as much as I really do. I hate bad stuff. I have never been one to know what to feel or say or do in the face of a tragedy. I shut down, I ignore, I bury and bottle. But this is my tragedy. Maybe I make jokes before other’s can. I don’t know. It’s weird. It makes me feel weird about myself. Maybe I want people to think I’m dealing with it and moving on. I am. I am dealing with it, and I do feel like I am moving on…and all the while carrying my little tragedy around in my pocket. But honestly I feel like we did a good job the first time around, and totally screwed it up the second. I know Down Syndrome isn’t my fault. Nothing I did or could have done would have changed it. At least that’s what the doctors say. But it was my body that did it, my egg that didn’t cooperate and split the way that it should have. The egg that had one purpose; to split the right way…couldn’t get it right. “What are the odds?” (A common thing people say); well at thirty-one the odds are one in nine-hundred. If you had an eight hundred and ninety-nine percent chance of winning the lotto, you’d play. I’d have played. ONE IN NINE-HUNDRED!!! I’d say my odds were pretty freaking good. I’m always that ONE, and now they tell me I have a repeat chance of one in ONE-HUNDRED now. How am I supposed to even think about conceiving another child? And they all say “But what are the odds?” and all I can think is “pretty freaking good!” It sickens me to feel this way.


Jenn said...

Oh Heather! I am praying SO hard for you! I've learned that regardless of what I pray for, God will do what HE knows is best and that's not necessarily what I want, so I will pray that whatever the outcome of the follow-up tests are (even though I pray they come back normal), that God will take your pain and frustrating and hold you in His arms, comfort you and support you!

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