I have a saying I've used often since I met and decided to marry Jason...close your eyes and jump. I knew when I married him it was a risk. Marriage is always a risk. Anything in life worth doing is a risk. I knew there was no guarantee our life together would be perfect and there was no way to know what the future held. But I had faith that whatever was in store for us, we would love each other through it. We would survive it. I could think of a million reasons to never get married but instead I chose to put my faith in God and in a man I love and close my eyes and jump. We closed our eyes and jumped when we decided to start this journey we call having a baby, we closed our eyes and jumped when Jason decided to quit his secure job working for his dad and start his own agency and a few weeks ago when my sister got married, the last words I said to her before she walked down the isle were, "Close your eyes and jump."
And so when I started this blog I vowed to be brutally honest. There is no point in sharing this journey if it is not honest, open and transparent. So here is the honest truth, a miscarriage is hard on a marriage. Six of them wrecks havoc on a marriage. Take into consideration that a man and woman grieve the loss of a baby very differently. For a man it is sad. For a woman it is devastating. I carried the baby in my body. I connected with the baby on a level a man will never understand. I loved my babies from the moment I saw a pink line. I had hopes, dreams and a future all planed out. We were connected. I grieve these losses much deeper and much stronger than Jason does. Now imagine your husband is gone working late hours and you are on your own with a very "spirited" two year old. I am tired, I am sad, I am just trying to get through the days that make up this season of my life. And now, the real challenge, what if you both don't agree on how to proceed with your fertility problems. It probably goes without saying that I am willing to go to the ends of the earth to have another child. Jason is not. I want more children. Jason is completely content with having just one. I don't care how much IVF and all the treatments cost. Jason does. I don't care what my body has to go through to have another child. Jason does. And a few nights ago, in the depths of my despair, I whispered to him in the quiet darkness of our room, "I want another baby". His response, "I know you do. But it's probably not going to happen. The odds are just not in our favor." And I physically felt my heart drop into my stomach. Again, how differently we see things. Dr. Sher told us our odds were 50/50. To me that means just that, 50/50. To Jason that means the odds are not in our favor. Needless to say, the next day, a ferocious argument ensued. It ended with me saying this, "You are all hypocrites. YOU are a hypocrite. You say you believe in a God who can do immeasurably more than we could ask or imagine, who loves us and wants to bless us, who can do anything and nothing is impossible for Him. What is a miracle to us is simply the wave of a hand for God. And then in the same breath you tell me this is impossible and not even worth trying." Ouch.
The next day is Jason's birthday and despite our argument, we go out to dinner to celebrate and that's where it happens. On his birthday I give him a pair of jeans. And he gives me something more special than I ever could have imagined. He slides across the table a red notebook. I open it to the first page and it explains that back in March when we were on vacation in Mexico he decided to start writing down, every day, what he appreciated about me. Some days it is just a few sentences and other days it is pages. Some of his words are sacred, to be held forever in the hearts of just Jason and I, but I have his permission to share some of it...."My heart breaks for you", "You are the most deserving woman in the world of another child", "Thank you for being there with me for Grandma Parker's visitation and funeral", "I appreciate you", "Thank you for cooking dinner", etc....
And then dated December 6, 2012 is this excerpt from his entry, "I appreciate the way you give me a new perspective. All this time you talk about how I need to be a rock of strength for you but when I look back it is you who has provided the courage and strength to push forward. When it was time to get married, you pushed. When it was time to buy a new house, you pushed. When it was time to have a baby, you pushed. When it was time to try for a second one, you pushed. When we faced difficulty, you pushed. You always said 'close your eyes and jump'. All along the way you have reached back and grabbed my hand to jump. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, we will jump. We will jump into the dead, dark, scary unknown. While you have always been the one to push and I have always been slow to come around, now I will jump with you."
All this time I have been feeling so alone in this struggle and unbeknownst to me, my husband has been taking time to write every day and he has been noticing my pain and he cares. He didn't know how to express it and this little red book was the only way he could. And we are finally on the same page. We are ready to close our eyes and jump, together, into whatever this endeavor to have another child holds for us. It may be more pain and loss. It may be more joy than we could ever ask or imagine. But whatever it is, we will face it, hands clenched tightly together, two hearts joined as one hoping against all hope for a miracle. Are we afraid of going down this road and what might be ahead? Unequivocally, yes. But Jason quoted this in the journal, "Fear never wrote a symphony, negotiated a peace treaty, or cured a disease. Fear never pulled a family out of poverty or a country out of bigotry. Courage did that. Faith did that. People who refused to consult with or cower to their timidity did that."
Our love has been shaped by tragedy. Our love is flawed and bruised because of it. But it's real. It's enduring. It's tragic and it's beautiful. It's the delicate leaf caught in the whirlwind of a ferocious storm, twisting and tossing us every which way. It's our love. It's crazy love that causes two people to cling to one another, close our eyes and jump into the abyss, step out of the boat onto the rocky waves where our God waits for us, arms outstretched, waiting to catch us, no matter what happens. My cup runneth over with crazy love.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
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