Grieving

Christmas is a strange time of year.  It is full of magic and happiness and peace and joy.  But it is also a time of year that memories stay with you, whether they are good or bad.

This morning I watched a touching video about servicemen who wanted to be home with their families for Christmas.  And that is when memories flooded my mind.  My husband was never in the military, but three years ago he was away for Christmas due to an assignment he had as a Federal Agent.  He was being trained to protect the borders of our country.

He left the day before my 30th birthday.  That was a hard year for me.  I was turning 30, living in my parents basement with my husband moving states away for five months.  I was left with a three year old and a seven month old to take care of without his help.  At the end of his five month absence, the "reward" for my sacrifice was to leave everyone and everything I knew and loved, and move - taking my children away from their cousins, to some of the hottest desert our country has to offer.  My spirits were low; my outlook was bleak.

As the day played out, my birthday decided to go from bad to worse.  My back went out on me, which occasionally would happen, and to add to that pain, I also came down with the stomach flu.  My family did their best make it a great day.  Andy had flowers and a gift delivered, my family all gathered together for a dinner out, and my friend Amanda and I went to my favorite Christmas play (The Christmas Carol at Hale Centre Theatre).  It was about as wonderful as a terrible day could be.

In addition to having Andy suddenly removed from my life, both sets of parents also soon left on vacation.  And so I spent those first few weeks really shouldering life alone in a way that was new and foreign to me.  I worked frantically to finish a quilt that I was making so that I could ship it to Andy in time for Christmas.  I was completely exhausted.  I finally got it finished, spent extra money to ship it express, and learned that even though it would be delivered on time, it was going to be delivered to a place that Andy wouldn't have access to until after the holiday.

That is when the melt down came.  I lost it like I have never lost it before or since.  I was out of control and my poor husband, miles and miles away had no idea how to help me.  We were on the phone together and the conversation escalated into the most irrational argument known to man.  I don't know what it was about or what we said.  I just remember screaming, feeling like I was completely out of control.  I had enough sense to recognize how far gone I was, but not enough to pull myself back together.  And I remember thinking that in addition to being worn to the bone, I was also being overly hormonal.  It was getting close to "that time".

A few days later was Christmas.  I am pretty sure Andy found a way to get his quilt on time.  It was our best year financially, so the boys had some nice gifts from us that Andy and I had bought together before he left.

On that Christmas morning I found myself sitting alone at the dining room table eating my breakfast.  The presents had been opened and children were happily playing.  I recall lifting the spoonful of cereal to my mouth, my stomach feeling not quite right.  And then it dawned on me.  I hadn't just been feeling the typical monthly hormones.  Suddenly I knew.  I was pregnant.

I waited for a couple of weeks before I took a pregnancy test.  But when I did, it confirmed what I had realized.  Andy was on the phone while I waited for the results.  I'll always remember how genuinely excited he was.  It wasn't planned or expected so I didn't know how he would react.  But he was joyful about having another baby.  I spent a blissful week floating in a cloud of peace and happiness.

One night, sleeping alone in my bed, I suddenly woke up.  And just as surely as I had known I was pregnant, I realized immediately that I was having a miscarriage.  I found myself in the bathroom where I discovered only the slightest hint of blood.  But I knew what I knew.  I called Andy, but he felt helpless and frustrated.  There was nothing he could do.  I tip-toed into my mom's office where I found her still awake working on her computer.

"I'm pregnant," I told her.

She cautiously congratulated me - she could tell something was wrong.

"I think I'm having a miscarriage," I continued.

She told me how sorry she was.  Even though she was nearby, there wasn't anything she could do either.

The following days included doctor visits, blood tests, and a confirmed miscarriage.  It was sad, but there wasn't time to be sad.  It was a hard thing to go through, but in that phase of my life, everything seemed hard.  All I could do was keep moving forward.

And so it is that today, I find myself reflecting back to that Christmas morning three years ago.  That morning when I "just knew" I was pregnant.  I find that I am grieving almost as if for the first time.  Suddenly I feel the loss of the baby that didn't come then - the baby that hasn't come since.  And I'm sad.