I feel like I wrote this post about being in a better place, and then I wrote a bunch of sad posts consecutively, which is weird really because these days the sad moments are shorter and farther between. Those sad posts are more contemplative than sad; sad is when I’m in my car and the wrong song comes on and I think I might just have to pull over to cry, but then I don’t, and it passes. That’s how the sad is, these days, which is a pretty big improvement.
There are so many new things that are happy, too. Amy’s brief time with us gave us incredible sadness, but also joy. I’m different now, mostly in a way that I like. I don’t worry nearly as much about what’s appropriate. I have feelings and I feel them. I want to do things, so I do them. I don’t want to do something? I don’t do it. Not like, big, life avoiding things, but the little everyday things. We all do it. It’s summer, I want to skip out early and go to the pool, but that would be irresponsible. Now, I just go. Work will be there later. I’m not irresponsible. Anyone who thinks otherwise is welcome to their opinion, but I know who and what I am either way.
And I’m so much less afraid of things. I thought I would be more, but it’s the other way around. Amy really brought home the idea that life is short, that anything can happen at any time, that something bad is just as likely to happen when you are quietly sleeping in your house as when you are doing something that might be considered scary. And it’s more than that, I think. Something really, truly awful happened to me, and I am okay. So it’s easier to believe that if something else bad happens, I’ll still be okay.
Amy has changed who I am, forever, and mostly I think that’s a good thing. I stumble a bit when asked, if I had it to do over again, would I? Because I don’t know. Would I embark on a pregnancy knowing that the baby would die? Probably not. Can I imagine not having this experience, with this tiny person, this daughter of mine? Not even a bit. It brings up a question I asked Dan once, an extremely morbid question with no answer, really – which do you think is easier to deal with, to try desperately and never have a baby, to have a stillborn baby, or to have a baby who fights for her life for some short period of time in the NICU before passing away? Is there an answer to this question? Or even a reason to ask it? It’s all awful, and we don’t have a time machine, anyway, and life is how it is.
And mostly, I’m grateful for it. I just wish that the cost for all the blessings we’ve received wasn’t Amy.