Originally posted to Livejournal September 25, 2010
Today is a mixed bag of emotion, but I guess that's been the case for every single one of the past 365. A year ago today, Ian and I learned that our son's heart had stopped beating, and all of the hope that we'd try to maintain in the previous two days had been in vain. I labored naturally for seven hours, pushed for just a few minutes and felt my son's lifeless body slide from my own. We held him and kissed him and told him how much we loved him, and even though our hearts were breaking more than they'd ever broken before, we were glad to be his parents. That we would never, not for one single solitary second, regret making him and loving him, even if it meant that we could have gone on being strangers to this new depth of sorrow.
My life is completely changed now; my heart feels new things that I had never experienced, and feels previously ordinary things in completely new ways. Christopher Robin's loss triggered in me an emotional chain reaction that brought to the surface every previous loss that I had endured, and every previous heartache that I had survived. Therapy is helping me collect all of these stories into a kind of blueprint detailing how I ingest these things, and I am beginning to understand myself in ways that I never thought possible. This is one of the hundreds of gifts that Christopher Robin has given to me. And while I would have preferred to go on being blind in my "craziness" yet cherishing my living and healthy son, I was never asked to choose. Life, or the universe, or evil spirits, or karma, or fortune made that decision for me, and I was left with the aftermath of crisis and tragedy. This was when my choices began, and I have chosen hope. It's the only thing that really makes sense to me anymore.