Tangled Up in Fear and Hope

I was feeling some anxiety and a little unsettled about creating this blog since my last posting.  I don’t want to give off the wrong impression.  I don’t want to put out the vibe that I live a sad and miserable existence.  I am generally a happy person with a positive disposition.   I like to take my adversities and turn them into hopeful opportunities.  As soon as I could stand up on my own two feet again after that dreadful October 6^th, I had decided that I would not become a victim of my circumstances, that I would not let this loss define who I am for the rest of my life, that I would not let evil reign my world.  I refused to stay in the darkness and have pity on myself and my struggles.  I grabbed a hold of hope and faith, closed my eyes, and moved on.  (Of course this leap wasn’t as easy as it sounds, but another post for another day).  We had a successful subsequent pregnancy and we have a beautiful daughter to hold and to love.  I know how truly lucky I am to be able to say that.  Trust me, I know.  It took us four years after that to decide if we were going to have another baby, four years to choose to really let go of our pain, four years to look fear in the face and deny it any last rights to loom over our decisions anymore.  We finally knew that we were ready to be brave once again and bring another little one into our hearts and into our world. 

With Abigail, it was almost easier in some ways to dive back in.  We had so much darkness and sadness after Wyatt’s death that we didn’t feel we had much to lose.  We felt we had to try with all of our might to right this wrong.  This last time, however, our world had become more peaceful.  We were content.  We had a child to hold in our arms during the day and tuck into bed at night.  We had played against the odds with her pregnancy and won that time.  Was it worth the gamble again?  We had additional odds we knew may not be in our favor this time, especially due to my “advanced maternal age”:  possible fertility difficulties, miscarriage, genetic risks…more speculated fears to add to the list of acquired fears that had already been justified.  However, we had learned the hard way that fear was not our friend and finally decided that living our lives in fear was truly not living at all.  Fear was not going to be the decision-maker in this household.  So, we got pregnant quickly (check), we had an early ultrasound that showed a healthy heartbeat (check), and we had absolutely, positively beat that nasty fear into the ground.  This pregnancy was going to be different.  I was so grateful that we had waited this long to try again because I was cool, calm and collected.  I was so far removed from our last loss that the fear, panic and unsettledness were just not there this time.  I was ecstatic….I was truly destined to have a worry free pregnancy and I was choosing that course and was excited for the ride.  I was headed to my 12 week appointment and could not wait to hear the heartbeat, could not wait for the verification that I already knew to be true, that our baby was healthy and we could now share with the world that we had conquered our fears, faced our demons once again and we were headed down the path to a joyful, fear-free pregnancy at last.  It was about time.

And here’s where the painfully familiar hell parted my blissfulness.  Yep, the baby-snatcher was back, once again, when I least suspected it.  I was numb from disbelief.  I had to have the nurse go back and get the doctor so that I could talk to her “for real” this time about what the plan was.  I was alone so I had to call Rob and tell him about our reoccurring fate.  And it was then I realized there was a task far more daunting ahead, a task I didn’t have to endure the last time, a task that broke my heart even thinking about it at that moment.  I had to tell our four year old that our baby died.  Try that one on for size.  It was the one thing that hurt most of all.  She wanted this more than any of us.  She was thrilled at the prospect of having a sibling.  A month later, she still asks questions, although they are fewer as the days pass, but she still asks questions and those questions still well my eyes with tears. 

So my story goes, and on it goes still.  The burning question now is:  When is enough, enough?  At what point do you look at fate and fear and say, “Fine, you win.”?  When do you decide that the gamble is no longer worth its odds?  I’m not going to lie to you, I’ve considered throwing in the towel many times this month.  I’ve considered wrapping my arms around my family tightly and claiming that I have so much to be grateful for and that my life is full.  I have considered proclaiming that I have enough love in my heart and there is no more room for pain.  I have considered giving up my fight, giving into my fears and relinquishing my dreams for a less heartbreaking existence.   But, I quickly realize that these are no longer only my dreams that I would be placing aside, that it is no longer solely my heart that has been broken:  there is a brave man and a hopeful four year old who are also sitting next to me.  They give me strength and give me reason to be a fear-slayer and fight for our family’s dreams.  One more time.  I’m not sure I have more in me beyond that, but this time is the only decision I have to make right now. So here we are……"trying again".  Once again, terminology I find disturbing.  It blatantly states my previous failures and implies so much, well, uncertainty regarding my future, to say the least.  So I find myself in an eerily familiar situation: uncertain, fearfully hopeful, and hanging on to some definition of faith for dear life.  Come along for the ride if you dare, just remember the end of this journey has not yet been written….fortunately for you, you can get off the ride whenever you wish, I, on the other hand, am here for the long haul.  Hold on tight.