Not this year. This year, most of the general population expects me to be "over it" enough to hardly remember the day. I'll never forget that day. It was the day a detour was placed in my path...not a fork. Oh no, most people get the fork. A path they get to choose for themselves. Not me. I got the damn detour. "This way is closed for you." In my path were dark clouds, fallen branches, potholes, quick sand, mud, and flying monkeys (well, maybe I exaggerated with the monkeys...). Shouldn't the detour sign have been for THAT path? Why was I being detoured AWAY from the bright blue skies and clear pavement? Why do I get to watch everyone I know walk down THAT path but I'm forbidden? Now that I'm on the other side of that forest, I can still see everyone else on their path. Theirs is still paved and I'm still on the dirt road. They can't see what's beneath my feet. It doesn't cross most of their minds to look at what we're walking on. We all have clear skies and the forest is long gone...yet I still walk on the dirt which, by the way, has mud holes along the way that I try to avoid, but sometimes are inevitable. Must be easy to forget my struggle through the dark forest when you never had a detour. You got to walk along your pretty, clear pavement and my struggle was hidden from you by the forest that enveloped my entire being. Seems pretty easy to dodge the mud holes when you can't see them, huh? Believe me, they are there. The big ones are anniversaries.
Yesterday was the 2 year anniversary of the day we received Tyler's diagnosis. The day we found out he had a condition deemed "incompatible with life". I dub thee "D-day". Unlike last year, I didn't watch the clock, remembering every moment of the previous year: when we left our house, when we got to the hospital, the time we were just walking around in the hospital after the doctor told us his findings were "concerning", the moments between when the doctor handed me a box of tissues and when he told us our baby was going to die...the list goes on. After telling our parents that day, I collapsed in bed, emotionally exhausted. As I woke, realizing it was NOT a bad dream, I cried some more. I went from LOVING every little movement inside me, to dreading it now. It was a constant reminder of what was being ripped away from me at any moment. It was one of the top 3 worst days of my life. It may have been THE worst. As awful as it was to have my only child (at the time) die in my arms then let him go the next day, there was still some beauty in those moment. Not D-day. There was no silver lining in "Your baby has bilateral renal agenesis, meaning the kidneys did not form, which is incompatible with life"..."If you choose to carry to term, your baby may only live a few moments, if born alive"..."Your baby may die in utero"..."Your baby may not survive labor and delivery"..."You can get a second opinion, but I have no doubt"... Those are the little snippets of the conversation I remember. I don't see a sliver of hope, do you?
Not this year. This year, most of the general population expects me to be "over it" enough to hardly remember the day. I'll never forget that day. It was the day a detour was placed in my path...not a fork. Oh no, most people get the fork. A path they get to choose for themselves. Not me. I got the damn detour. "This way is closed for you." In my path were dark clouds, fallen branches, potholes, quick sand, mud, and flying monkeys (well, maybe I exaggerated with the monkeys...). Shouldn't the detour sign have been for THAT path? Why was I being detoured AWAY from the bright blue skies and clear pavement? Why do I get to watch everyone I know walk down THAT path but I'm forbidden? Now that I'm on the other side of that forest, I can still see everyone else on their path. Theirs is still paved and I'm still on the dirt road. They can't see what's beneath my feet. It doesn't cross most of their minds to look at what we're walking on. We all have clear skies and the forest is long gone...yet I still walk on the dirt which, by the way, has mud holes along the way that I try to avoid, but sometimes are inevitable. Must be easy to forget my struggle through the dark forest when you never had a detour. You got to walk along your pretty, clear pavement and my struggle was hidden from you by the forest that enveloped my entire being. Seems pretty easy to dodge the mud holes when you can't see them, huh? Believe me, they are there. The big ones are anniversaries.
2 Comments
Ann
10/18/2011 04:58:18 pm
You are an amazing girl, Brittany Clark. Just sayin'
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Tara
11/10/2011 11:29:09 am
Wow! This is by far my favorite post yet! You should write poetry!! Miss you so much!! Give baby girl smooches from aunt Tara! Love you!
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Brittany ClarkI'm blogging in hopes of reaching out to other parents who have to face the most heartbreaking experience in life. Archives
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