When they told me that Gideon's condition might be lethal (2 days before he was born), I knew that our family was going to be travelling down a very hard path. Even if he had lived longer, we knew things were bad, and I expected that it would be difficult. I expected that we would not always know how things were going to be, that there would be a lot of touch and go moments, that we were going to have to take things a moment at a time. I knew that it would be harder than I could handle alone, and I knew I wouldn't have to handle it alone. I have a wonderful family and friend support network (thank you all!!) and I have Heavenly Father and my Savior who love me and give me strength to bear the burden, even though the burden is still there.
There have been some things that I did not expect though. For example, I did not realize how hard it would be for me to see someone else struggling through a situation even remotely like ours. I have several friends and cousins who have had babies in the last few weeks. If anything at all seems to be going wrong, I feel a panicky feeling right along with them. One of my friends from when I was in high school has been in the hospital for weeks, and is having to deliver her baby 6 weeks early, and I am feeling all kinds of anxious for her and her baby. It is a reminder to me how much I still miss Gideon, how much pain there is, how I don't want anyone else to have to go through what we have. I DO know that Gideon is still my son, that he will be resurrected, that I will get that chance to raise him, but I still ache for him, I still wish he were here right now.
I didn't expect to feel so jittery about my other children either. I have always been a worrier and a fusser. I just can't help it, I have a big imagination, and I stress about things like kids coming home late, or pregnant sister in laws that might be overdoing it. (Sorry guys.) Now that we have lost a child, I am a little more guarded about my others. (I didn't think there was room for me to be more anxious than I already was, but apparently there is.) I back out of my driveway more carefully. I took Hyrum to the doctor because he kept telling me how much his legs hurt, and was sometimes limping. (He's fine, everything seems to be normal after both x-rays and ultrasounds of his legs.) It's hard for me to even send my kids to school now. I am terrified of losing another child. I am trying to still let them be children, but it is VERY hard to let my boys be boys at this point. I have to hold back all the things I want to holler at them to keep them safe in a bubble. "Don't climb that ladder! Don't jump down the stairs! No, you may not eat raw cookie dough, you might get sick and die."
I thought that I would simply make the decision to find joy in this trial, and then I'd just have to stick to it, but that's not really how it's been. It hasn't been nearly as simple as I figured it would be. I thought that seeing all the miracles that I talked about during Gideon's funeral would make it easy to be happy and move forward with life. That has not been the case. Every day, and sometimes multiple times a day, I have to come to terms with our situation again. I have to keep on deciding that I want to be happy, I have to keep on choosing to have faith in the Lord's plan for our family, to try and see what God wants me to see and become who he wants me to become. Otherwise, I would drown in the grief, in the feelings of guilt, wondering what I did wrong, or what I could have done better to change this situation. I AM choosing to trust in God, I am choosing not to let the feelings of self doubt drag me down, I am holding to the faith that families are forever, but those are choices I now have to face far more often than I expected to.
Some of the surprises have been pleasant surprises. My children do miss their brother still, and continue to petition the Lord for siblings (we are in a prayer war--some want a brother, others want a sister, and occasionally they are praying for twins for us. I am not quite sure how I feel about that idea.) They have done remarkably well, though. I wondered if they would use their grief as leverage to get away with not doing classwork or homework (no, I don't think they are evil, but they can be very dramatic sometimes), but they have worked hard in school and done really well. My relationship with my children hasn't really changed, but it has grown more dear to me.
I didn't expect that the holidays would feel so bitter-sweet. I LOVE the family time, the fun activities that are coming in rapid fire beginning in October. I am so much more grateful for the time I have with my family, and with good friends. However, as we prepare for Halloween, I am coming face to face with the plans I originally had for this year. We would have a new baby in October, we would limit Trick-or-Treating and avoid some of the parties/carnivals, and I would be home with baby while Scott took the kids out. That has changed. I have started Christmas shopping already (only a little, I love to find good deals and tuck them away), and I was looking through our stuff and came upon some outfits we had bought to give to Gideon for Christmas. They were bought about 10 days before I ended up in the hospital, when we had gone shopping at the pajama outlet up in Logan. It was heartbreaking to pull out these adorable pieces of clothing and know that I couldn't use them anymore. (But I have a nephew who can, and we passed them along.) Christmas is going to be very different than I had planned.
One thing that is not a surprise is that everything pulls at my heart strings. I have always been a crier. I am emotional, I can't help it. This has definitely taken it to a new level, which I'm still not sure I'm very comfortable with. I do have many wonderful highs, I treasure the time reading books to my kids, their hugs and kisses and questions make me feel so happy. There are some very sad moments too, reminders of things I have to wait a VERY long time to experience--hearing him laugh, seeing him smile, I won't get to see his first steps or watch him try new foods on Thanksgiving, or ride a bike, or open Christmas presents, or any of that for many years, and that can be really hard sometimes.
I once heard (and I LOVE it) the saying that in life, flat lines are a bad thing. Flat lines indicate death on a heart monitor. It's the ups and downs that let you know you're alive. Well, then--I am definitely alive, and choosing to find joy, day after day, or hour after hour.
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