Did I know? Should I have known?

At some point in spring 2011 I remember laying in bed and looking at our closet door.  I think Shawn may have been up and getting ready in the background.  But I remember the closet door so vividly, and thinking about how blessed we had been since meeting each other six years earlier.  And suddenly, I got a horrible awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I knew that things wouldn't always be easy for us, and our time was coming.  I don't know where those thoughts and feelings came from but I have never been able to shake that feeling.

 It isn't my place to share Shawn's journey with the world, but May brought a brain tumor.  And it wasn't always easy.  That was the beginning of our struggle.  I was already pregnant.

 My entire pregnancy, it felt funny to buy baby things.  Was my mind trying to tell me something?  Did my body know something that I didn't?  I was both scared and excited for the baby.  But there were somethings that I could never bring myself to do (like think about whether or not to circumcise).  Some decisions didn't feel necessary - even though they were.  When Livie and I went out to buy a new pump, it felt SO wrong.  The entire time that I wavered between the PISA and the Freestyle I kept thinking in the back of my mind, "why am I buying this?".  At the check-out, I had a strong urge to tell the cashier "never mind" and put the pump back.  I felt the same way when I bought the play mat, and sheets and clothes, and everything else I bought.

 The night I went into labor, I KNEW I was going into labor soon.   Livie's labor was so quick, that I swore this time around I would head to the hospital at the first sign of anything going on.  So why didn't I?  Why did I crawl into bed that night?

 Carter wasn't a particularly active baby.   My midwife said it was the anterior placenta.  Some days I hardly felt him at all.  But nighttime was our check-in time.  If I laid on my right side at bedtime, I would feel him.  And I could never fall asleep until he let me know he was still ok in there.  So that last night, why did I rationalize it when I didn't feel him when I laid down?

My Internet reading has taught me that a placental abruption can feel like a never ending contraction.   I know that feeling.  It started at Livie's bedtime and continued until I got my epidural.  And a placental abruption isn't all or nothing.  It takes time for the placenta to separate.  So what if when I crawled into bed that night it wasn't all the way separated?   What if I headed to the hospital then instead of trying to get some sleep in?   My midwife has told me multiple times that the outcome likely would not have changed.  Likely.  She says that there is nothing we could have done.  And I want so badly to believe her.   And I know I should.  I can't bring myself to think through the reasons why she is right, but she is.  By the time I knew something was wrong, it was too late.

I can't help but feel guilty.  Should I have seen this coming?  Should I have known?  My son is gone and I didn't save him.  My husband lost his son, and my daughter lost her brother.  And I am the only one that stood any chance of having saved him.  Not only do I mourn my son, I mourn for my husband and daughter and their losses.  I had so many plans and dreams for my little guy - and they are gone.

I don't know what the future holds for our family, but I do know that I am scared.  The future will never feel like a safe place again.   I want a long future with the man I love.  I want Livie to have a sibling.   More than that, she needs a sibling.   Otherwise she will be very much alone one day.

It will probably be 6-9 months before we get the ok to try again.  And even then, will we be ready?  Will we be healthy?   I will be a high risk pregnancy.  And there are no guarantees.  This we know.  And it won't be Carter - it will be some other baby.  And Livie will be 5 or older when he or she arrives.   That is too far apart for them to be close like I imagined and dreamed.   My mind spins 100 miles an hour with all the possible scenarios and lost dreams.

For now, all I can do is hope and pray that we all heal and stay healthy.  Time is precious, so I don't want to wish it away.  But I hope that the next six months are a good healing time for our family, and not as long and painful as the past six have been.