Breakthrough

The month of April marks FOUR YEARS since we've been dealing with the realization that we would only have our son for a short time on earth.  Four years since hearing that he was growing without his kidneys, a condition that is "incompatible with life."  Four years since we were urged to "terminate the pregnancy," since there was no chance they were wrong.

After deciding to carry our pregnancy to term, my son was born alive and we were blessed with two hours with him before he passed.  The experts were right.  He wasn't with us long.  And I wouldn't change a thing.  I'm thankful for the nine months I was able to hold him close and safe, thankful I was able to meet him face to face.  I'm grateful that he is not a statistic, but a name and a person with Daddy's lips and Momma's nose.

It hasn't been easy.  My grief journey over these past four years has been painful, exhausting, and completely typical.  Losing a child is a tremendous loss, one that is understood fully by those who have walked in my shoes, and hard to explain to those who have not.

Over the past four years, one of the hardest things I've had to deal with is how I include this huge part of my life when talking to others about my family and children.  I've written a ton of blogs on this subject, as situations would inevitably come up and I would be faced with deciding how to explain this gaping hole that only I can see. 

Up until yesterday, I either didn't share his story (and felt awful) or included him (and felt awful).  It wasn't really working for me.  And then, just like that, I decided I would answer the common questions of "Is this your first?" when people see my baby bump, and "How many other children do you have?" with the simple statement:  "I have two at home."

Mind you, this solution was totally presented to me a year or so ago.  But, I wasn't ready then.  I couldn't say those words then.  Suddenly, it's okay.  Suddenly, I can say that sentence and not feel guilt - but instead know that I am speaking the truth.  It was a quick decision to not take the route of explaining I have a son in Heaven.  A decision to not dive into the sad details of just how I count the members of my family.

I finally felt like I was "off the hook" and was in awe, feeling so grateful that God had given me His spirit of peace over something that has caused me so much grief and misery.

Now are you ready for the extreme irony that occurred hours after I came to this amazing revelation?  I came home from my dear friend's baby shower and explained to my husband the new way I addressed all the common questions from well-meaning strangers.  I was so pleased with myself.  I was basking in the new feeling of contentment, instead of the common feeling of guilt.  I was saying things like, "Do you realize what a big deal this is!?"  "Aren't you so proud of me!?"  His sweet smile assuring me that he was indeed pleased.

Moments after that conversation, I grabbed a book to read.  I just got this book at the shower, as the guest of honor is humbly allowing me to borrow it as I prepare for Ruby's arrival.  Excited to start reading, I took one look at the book's spine and said out-loud, "Really??" 

The author's last name is Gabriel?  Well, of course it is.  Seeing his name so unexpectedly like that made me cry.  Hard.  It was such a slap in the face - the cold reality that I may have made two steps forward in my grief by finally realizing how to address my number of family members to complete strangers, but here was one step back - just seeing my son's name in print caused feelings of sadness, loss, and heartache to come flooding in.  Gabriel, my sweet Gabriel.  My son.  The one I wanted, cherished, and loved.  The one I felt kick and squirm from within.  There is no forgetting him.  No chance of getting over the loss of his life, his spot in my family.  That is my reality.

So, here's hoping I'm still able to address outsiders with my new tactics, without feeling like I'm denying a huge part of my life.