Part of me wishes that I could say, “And they all lived happily ever after” and end the story right here.
The reality is? I can’t.
Honestly, at the time, if my husband would have wanted me back? I would have taken him back. I was so desperate. I was so alone. I was so overwhelmed and scared and…everything. I was one hot mess and I absolutely saw no way out.
Because everything leading up to the birth and then the actual birth itself? Was nothing compared to the feeling of ice in your soul when a doctor tells you your child may not continue to be alive. Nothing compared to having to watch your child suffer to breathe, struggle to eat. Nothing compared to having to show your drivers license and put on the equivalent of a Tyvek suit to see your own child. Nothing on this earth that takes your breath away like seeing your child with an IV in his head, because he didn’t have any other veins strong enough to support a huge needle. Nothing that hurts quite like seeing your child getting his blood drawn once again and seeing him, so resigned to the pain in his life, that he couldn’t even cry anymore.
Wondering why on earth you were chosen to have two babies at once, at age 22. Wondering if you would even be alive in five years to continue to be their mom, because apparently you have big-ass tumors that are prone to grow inside your womb and all over your ovaries. Nothing like wondering if it was ever, ever going to get better and even if it didn’t get better, if you would just have enough money tomorrow, to buy diapers.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t consider suicide.
Even now, almost ten years later, it makes me very uncomfortable for people to give me praise for being strong. I wasn’t strong. I did what I had to do to survive and at times I really, seriously thought about giving up.
It is really, really hard for me to admit that. But it is what it is.
I’ve never believed that I was a person destined for anything great or special. I do think, however, that something really special and amazing was given to me. I don’t think I was special for living through what I did and making a better life. I do think there are a lot of women, many of whom have sent me wonderful, heartfelt emails in the past few days, who have lived through something similar.
I do believe in unanswered prayers.
I started writing this in hopes that I would deal with a lot of things in my life that I’ve never dealt with. It was never, ever about my ex-husband. When I say that I don’t remember what he looks like? I honestly mean that. It was never about him.
It was never about anyone feeling sorry for me. I never want anyone to feel sorry for me. Because my life? Freaking rocks. And while not all of it rocks (for example, my job which both sucks and blows), I’m working towards making it rock. And the parts of my life that suck don’t really matter as much when I get to come home every night to Jason and Boy Child and Girl Child and Ginger.
I don't know if I think my life rocks because I am deliriously grateful for everything about it or because it actually, really rocks. Either way, I don't care. I think it rocks.
So what I intended for this story didn’t happen. But what did happen, clarified a lot of things for me. I feel stronger now than I have in many, many years. I’ve made a lot of decisions about my life. Powerful decisions.
It feels good.
A lot of people said things to me like, “I’m so glad you have Jason!” and you know? Thank you. I’m so glad I have him too. He is my best friend and I am his. We have a really good life together. Not perfect, but really good. The kind of life I always wanted and always hoped I would have with my husband and children.
And have you seen him? He’s really freaking hot!
But I guess what I wanted to make clear was, yes, I have Jason and I am unbelievably thankful that I do, but if I didn’t? I’d be okay.
Because I have myself.
And when this story took place ten years ago? I didn’t.
Since I was a little child I’ve always loved to read and write. I would read everything I could get my hands on and I while I always loved stories, they also made me horribly sad. Because there was always an ending.
This story has no ending. Not yet.
So much of it we haven’t even written yet.
And I am so profoundly thankful that there are so many people who want to read about it. Because that? Is some of the most amazing stuff of all.