Thanksgiving 2013

My poor neglected little blog.  Oh, how I've missed thee.

It was just easiest to update everyone about Jackson by email.  People could read it, or not.  They could pass it along to others, or not.  And lord knows I was down right honest in my emails.  But, the therapeutic side of it was missing for me.  I write to get things off my chest and out of my head so I can move on with my day.  I was so busy making sure everyone knew how Jackson was doing, that I forgot to check and see how I was doing.  And so today, I'm making a jump back to my blog.  What started as Mason's baby book, the story of my first born, somehow took a left turn and never got back on the road.  Today, I am merging with traffic again.

I was at King Soopers with Jackson the other day, doing some holiday shopping.  Just the two of us.  A woman passed by us, and said "thank you for choosing life".  I looked at her, but didn't respond.  I guess she didn't think I heard her, so she repeated it.  I just looked at her some more.  I mean, what was I supposed to say?  Clearly, I didn't choose it for her.  I didn't choose it because it was the right thing to do.  I didn't choose it because I was pressured to.  I chose life because at the end of the day, I couldn't choose death.  Don't get me wrong.  I am currently, and will always be, pro choice.  No one should get to tell a woman what to do with her body.  I think I was offended by her.  And I think I was caught off guard by her and her beliefs.  But I know I hated her for bringing me back to those days and weeks when we were faced with such unthinkable choices.  Here I was strolling the isles of the grocery store, talking to Jackson about all that we were seeing, not a single care in the world.  And in an instant a total stranger had brought me back to the darkest days of my life.  I down right hated her.

I sat in the front lobby of Children's hospital yesterday for about 30 minutes.  I sipped my iced vanilla latte and just watched people pass by.  A woman pushed a stroller past me with a baby inside, who was maybe 5 months old.  The little girl was sitting up on her own and I winced a little with jealousy.  And then they turned a corner, and I saw the 8+ inch freshly sewn zipper that covered the baby's head.  And in an instant, my jealousy was washed away with shame.  Who was I to assume that this little girls course had been so easy, just because she could sit up in her stroller?  While I was licking my wounds, a dad came by, with his teenage son.  He was in a wheel chair that reclined to put his feet up in the air, so that he was almost parallel with the ground.  His toes pointed and curled.  His mouth frozen open.  And I knew his son didn't walk.  Or talk. Or laugh.  Or eat with his mouth.  Or hug his mom.

Everyone said that the first year was the hardest.  And, here I sat, having gotten through that first year, with only minimal damage to my heart and mind.  I came home, humbled and grateful, and made 8 dozen pumpkin chocolate chip muffins to take to the Cardiac ICU today.  I wanted to take one into each of the rooms, and hug each of those parents, and promise them that the first year was the hardest.  But, I've been around this heart world long enough to know better than to promise them a damn thing.  Some of us are fortunate, and the first year comes and goes, and while battered and torn, we all live to see another day.  But too many times, we loose another sweet angel.  So, I dropped my goodies off and left.  I can't bring myself to utter empty promises. 

Today, I am thankful for many many things.  Above all else, I am thankful that God has granted my son another day, here on earth with us.