July 4th is always hard for me. It was the last day of normal, the before time. I was still pregnant with triplets planning a life with three boys, expecting a c-section at 35 weeks or so. All neat and tidy.
We had some friends over. Two couples each with one small child. My husband grilled and I made a couple of things but took it easy most of all. I had been off work for about 2 weeks. Deep down I didn’t feel right. I had been feeling some kind of unrest deep inside me for a few days, but could not put my finger on it.
The next day, July 5th, I ruptured my membranes. That’s 7 years ago today. I was dreaming that I was swimming and when I woke I was soaking wet. It was as if I had been stabbed, because as an OB/GYN I knew that the prognosis was dismal. That I would probably lose all 3 of my sons. It was a miracle that only one died – my son Aidan.
July 4th was the precipice and July 5th started what I can only call the journey of Narcissus. I feel as if I walked to the mouth of hell and climbed out with two of my sons. Now, the heat and heaviness of July is the breath of Hades on my neck. I am not afraid of it, but it still stirs a sadness so profound that my bones ache. And like Narcissus I feel the creep of self doubt and hear whispered questions, wondering if I really did everything that I could.
I cannot imagine what you are still enduring, but I applaud your efforts to educate the rest of us. I hope your son’s memory and legacy continue to live on in the great work you are doing.
After I was born my mother had four miscarriages. I often dream of my sisters.