When I was twelve, if anyone had told me that I’d be pregnant in 8 more years, I might have laughed at them. Although I did have great aspirations to be a mother some day (there’s a reason friends called me ‘Momma Beth’) I really did not think it would happen in 8 years. Although 8 years then seemed an eternity away, still it seemed like 20 years old was too young for me to consider becoming a parent.
12+8=20 and there I was pregnant with my first child. Luckily, also happily married to a great guy with lots of love and support from both of our families.
At the age of 20, if anyone had told me that in 8 more years, I would have had two more children but also have lost one, I would not have believed anything that person had told me. Well, maybe having two more children in 8 years was realistic, but not losing one. The thought of losing a child was inconceivable to me then. I lived in a happy world, with a good life spreading out before me. It was not a life tinged with sadness or tragedy. I had such a blessed life, that I could only think “That can’t happen to me.”
At the age of 23, I had my second child. And five weeks later, he stopped breathing. And still the thought that tragedy could strike my family was not one that I felt applied to me. I still had hope that my second child would recover fully from his brush with death and go on to lead a long and fulfilling life. The doctors tried their hardest to put his future into realistic terms for us. The walls of my safe castle were crumbling, my world was no longer full of the bright colors of optimism and joy. Instead, a strong hand had brushed every thing I saw with gray, black and brown. I quickly came to realize my easy, blessed life was changing in horrifying ways. Thinking 8 years ahead then was not an option. It was all I could do to survive, day by day, hour by hour. The future was not mine to dream about.
At the age of 25, the question of Sullivan’s future was answered. He died. He had no future in this life, beyond that of our memories. I became intimately aware that “IT” could happen to anyone, anywhere, without rhyme or reason. As the days and months passed after his death, I began to see a future ahead again. Each day that passed painted a new kaleidoscope of colors in front of me. The world still held grays, blacks and browns, but they became balanced by the endless shades of other possibilities. At the age of 25, I had no idea what my future held. But I wanted another child. Eight years ahead seemed far distant still.
I’m 31 now. I’m still looking forward into the murky future, trying to resolve the whirling mix of colors into some order that makes sense. I’m still trying to find my own path to the future, while realizing that every day lays a new stone on the path to that future. I don’t know what the next 8 years hold for me or for my family. I hope, I pray, that my two children will continue growing and maturing into the next 8 years. In 8 years, J will be 18 and moving out into the great world beyond, hopefully filled with all the hope and optimism an 18 year old should have. In 8 years, X will be 12 and my hope is that he will still have that boundless energy and curiousity that he was now.
But now, looking back 8 years, I see so many twists and turns in the path. It’s hard to believe that almost 8 years ago, I gave birth to my second child…thinking I was giving him into the world to love and nurture to adulthood. It’s hard to believe that six years ago, I said goodbye to that boy. Instead of raising him to adulthood, I watched him soar to the heavens.
Sometimes, when I see a picture of my family now, there’s a shadow figure standing there beside us. A boy with curly light brown hair and bright blue eyes lit with the mischief most 8 year old boys seem to share. He’s tall for his age, and strong. He’s there with us, always, even if only in my head. I wonder what he’d be like now, if he had never stopped breathing that cold December day. And then I wonder what he’d be like now, if he had stopped breathing…but then hadn’t died two years later.
8 years…it’s amazing what a difference 8 years can make.
