Haven't had much time to update, but since I must not have gotten into the situation with my son in this journal, I thought I'd give a brief explanation. I hope you'll forgive me for leaving out a few things...
There was a point when my then-wife and I finally decided we were ready to start having kids, so she quit her b/c & we started trying. It seemed like it took forever to get pregnant (couple of years, I think), but it finally happened & we were both really excited. Went through all of the prenatal checkups, meds, etc, but then, during one particular appointment (which, unfortunately, was at 5pm on a Friday) the ultrasound technician apparently saw something, and excused themselves to go find a doctor (I'm sure something was said, but I don't recall what). The doctor came in, did some looking around himself, and told us something was wrong (or there was an issue, etc. - no idea what they actually said anymore), but didn't really tell us what. They sent us home, with no information at all - it was the most devastating weekend of my life. We both, literally, sat on the couch the entire weekend. I don't even remember eating anything. We were terrified, because we just didn't know what was wrong, and not knowing is the worst.
Monday, we got a call & had an appointment scheduled for a much later date. I don't really remember much after that, but they explained all of the issues, the complications with our baby, the possibilities, and our options. We spent quite a while trying to decide what to do. Finally, even though we both really wanted children, we decided it would be best to terminate the pregnancy. They had dragged things on so long, that legally it was almost too late for us to pursue it, but they got us in. In the end, my son was "stillborn" early in the morning on February 14th, Valentine's Day. They brought him back up to us later that morning so we could say goodbye. We were so thoroughly devastated that it just seemed like something we needed to do for ourselves, and for him. Gods, he was so small...
Anyway, I stand by my decision, and if I had it all to do again, I'd make the same choices, but I've carried the guilt of this ever since. I'm fully convinced that subconsciously, my wife blamed my for the issues (genetically speaking), and she never got over it, which was pretty much the end of us. (As an aside, she went on to have a kid of her own with her new man, so it likely was my *fault* even though I know nobody is really to blame.) We donated his body to the university hospital to help with researching the issues, in the hopes that he could help others, and they took care of the funeral arrangements, and burial.
So now, every year on Valentine's Day, I go to visit with him, remember him, reflect on where I am, where things are in my life, and to let him know he's still in my heart, and in my mind, even if I can't allow him to stay in the forefront of my thoughts during the year.
Ugh. Ok, I'm going to post this now, but hopefully, I'll having something less dramatic to post soon, so this doesn't stay on the front page...
9:03 p.m. - 2012-02-13
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