I awoke this morning at 3:30 on the nose. I was in the midst of a very uncomfortable and visceral dream wherein I could not interact, only observe, as a very "amplified" version of my son's birth played out. All the mistakes, all the interventions I now know were unnecessary, the related periods of fetal distress, all the regret and guilt (and the repeated thought: Thank God we didn't cut him on top of everything else...). The dream ended abruptly with a gush of blood as Sam hemorrhaged and my brain kicked into consciousness mode.
I think much of it had to do with Tyler's official report from the UW Autism Center, which tells a pretty clear story of his issues and probable roots. That has weighed significantly on the collective mind of the family recently. I also think some of it has to do with the fact that Samantha would have turned 43 today.
Kayleigh plans to bake a cake, and we'll probably sing Happy Birthday, laugh, cry and remember. As it should be.
Don't get me wrong - I am incredibly happy and pretty darned satisfied with the turns my life has taken since those significant losses. The children Sam gave birth to and nurtured through their early years are both amazing people in their own right. I'm married to a wonderful, understanding woman, who realizes you don't just ignore two decades of history. Each year it gets a little easier. But there's no avoiding it. A very special person in my life had her own cut short. Avoiding talking about how sad that is doesn't make it any less sad. So we observe, and grieve, and thank our lucky stars we have each other for as long as any of us have on this planet.
Happy Birthday, Samantha.