On Friday night, the day before Valen.tine’s Day I worked on making chocolate covered strawberries at home while chilling a bottle of champagne. I ordered Mex.ican food from our favorite restaurant, the husband was on his way home. Later that evening I pulled up to the train station to pick him up. He was taking a while. Then I make out the vision of a man walking awkwardly with a large balloon and flowers. No he didn’t, I think to myself. He got quite the kiss when he got in the car.
We had a special night.
The next morning we have our coffee and plan our day; the normally ‘hurry-up-and-get-out-of-the-house’ hubster is wanting to take it slow. I decide to shower – and took an especially long nice one. He peeked in the bathroom at some point to see if I was ready. I scratched my head, oookkkkkkkkk, I thought we were going to take it nice and slow this morning. When I step out in to our bedroom I find long stemmed roses on the bed. I read the note and it touched my heart. Beleive you me, the man was taken care of that afternoon.
My husband is what I call my cheerleader, my advocate, my best friend and even my savior. A hopeless romantic? Ummm…well…. But yet this year it was special.
For the last two years Valentine’s Day was awful. The first year we got the news that Emi was not going to make it; the second year I was queasy and scared to death that Daniella might have meckel gruber syndrome (which she didn’t – not that it made an ultimate difference in our story). (My birthday is another one we want to make special as the last two years I was mourning my girls on my day.)
Anyway…after receiving the flowers we went to the book store to kill time before heading over to his parents house. They were hosting a going-away party for a friend. Rather than celebrating upstairs, on the main level, they did it in their smaller basement. You know, along with two shadow babies that were born mere weeks after Emi should have been. It was cramped and loud and babies were everywhere. I told my husband I felt like I was in a pressure cooker. My heart rate went up and I was tense the two miserable hours I was there. Then the third shadow baby showed up and it was all “ooohhhhsss” and “aaahhhsss”. I couldn’t take it. We left shortly after.
While grabbing my things my MIL asked why we were leaving. I gave it to her straight: “The babies are killing me”. She gave this look like it was weird. I said: ” You have been blessed to have three healthy babies, while I went through the same motions you did and mine died. I know you don’t understand and that’s ok. I wouldn’t want you too, because then it would mean you would have had to live through it. If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that people have the right to get by however they can, and there is not always a need to understand them.”
As we drove home, my husband told me he was proud of me. As we discussed our exit he said that some of the guests asked why we were leaving and he just gave them a look as if to say ‘you’re kidding me with that question, right?’
“What would your therapist recommend about how to handle this?”, he asked.
“He would say keep trying, and when it gets to be too much, just excuse yourself and leave. It won’t always take the wind out of you. It will get better over time.”