Below The Fold

Maybe not. Maybe you haven’t, and the assumption you have is nothing more than base narcissism. Maybe no one cares a whit. And that’s okay. Because, truth be told, I haven’t cared much lately either.
Life got in the way.
The past two months have been a blur of the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
I documented the joy when it was happening. I’ve got pages of the stuff, collecting dust in a folder on my external hard drive. It’ll never see the light of day, though. I don’t know why I haven’t deleted it yet. I certainly haven’t been able to go back and read it.
I haven’t documented a word of the low, though, other than to send a text to the people who were sharing in the joy and let them know it was over.
My beautiful wife had a miscarriage.
That’s still as hard to write now as it was the day we found out a few weeks ago.
We’ve been trying for years. And the whole time, I’d be lying if there weren’t some part of me that might have been almost relieved every time the pregnancy test came back negative. Because I was scared at the prospect of being a father. Of living solely to care for another human being so utterly and completely dependent on me. Dependent on me for the basics of life, like food and shelter and warmth. Dependent on me for education and instilling a strong moral code and guidance into adulthood.
That shit was too heavy to think about, man.
And then, it happened. Out of the blue, and, truth be told, on the downside of the hope hill.
And suddenly, I was really terrified. And unbelievably happy. At the same time. An elation I can’t begin to explain, because I’d never experienced it before.
I was talking to another man recently who is a father, and he said fatherhood was like someone cranked up the color on his life. That everything was suddenly heavier—in a good way. That there was a new sense of accountability that bordered on the spiritual.
I certainly can’t say it any better than that.
And then, after a month of knowing, it ended.
Thirty-seven days.
The last couple weeks, we’ve been coping. My wife’s strength is an inspiration. There have been many moments when I was sure I was taking this harder than she was. Another friend said women are better able to cope with this kind of a loss. That centuries of lost pregnancies and lost babies and lost husbands have helped to evolve that ability to cope more than in a man. She’s probably right. I know my wife’s a good proof case for the argument. She’s tough.
And that’s the other thing. Aside from the loss, it was the helplessness of being able to protect her from this pain. She’s had too much of it in her life. And it’s one more thing I wasn’t able to block. And it makes me angry that I wasn’t able to protect her from it.
And there’s more. Too much more to dive into. But it’s plenty enough.
Meanwhile, I can’t remember longing for spring as much as I do right now. Even after the blizzards in ’06. And I can’t help but think all of those things are related somehow.
So, that’s where I’ve been. I pass the limited downtime lately watching golf on TV or playing Guitar Hero with Amy. I haven’t looked at this blog in forever, and I’m sorry for that on a few levels.
And I’m not sure when I’ll stop by again.