Baby steps

You know, I say a week ago that I think I’ve had this breakthrough with the fact that there are other kids Colin’s age still alive, and then….

It’s not exactly a setback. It’s far from me wishing other kids dead. It is along the lines of me thinking about writing a post-apocalyptic novel about a man who kidnaps a boy to replace his lost child. It is probably prompted by the fact that I’m trying to print out photos from the last year and, in the search, came across a photo or two of Colin in places I didn’t expect. It is probably linked to the fact that I’m cleaning out old paperwork and found things like our application for him to go to day care, or the original paperwork from his health insurance.

It all comes and goes. The babies probably add to it.

I mean it happens. People have babies. You can hardly expect that not to happen. And it’s not like I want it not to happen. (and it’s interesting that I sat on this post for 24 hours before sending it and now, reading it before I send it, noticed that I accidentally left the word ‘not’ out of the two above sentences. One does wonder what the mind is doing when you’re not paying attention) Just because things blew up in my face doesn’t mean I think people should forgo the joys (and other bits) of parenthood. I certainly look forward to a scenario where I have grandkids, even if that is planning ridiculously ahead, given that neither Emma nor Noah has shown so much as signs of interest in a first date so far. I mean, way to plan ahead, Niels. I’m having a political/meaning of life debate with a relative who recently lost his wife and the only way I can explain things to him is that, yes, there are days I think about dying, but they’re nothing more than fleeting thoughts, because I want to see how these two turn out, and that desire to see them grow up outweighs any dark thoughts I might have.

But there are babies. I found out that a neighbor is expecting. A completely unrelated neighbor told me.

“You knew, right?” he said, right after dropping the news.

“I know now,” I responded. And then I couldn’t tell Christina about it because I figured Christina would want to hear it straight from the source. And I honestly don’t know how to react to the news on some level. Because, while everyone else is all “Congratulations” my thoughts flee to “Oh, but the dangers.” And I realize that the odds were so ridiculously off with us. A friend told us when Colin first got diagnosed that we should play the lottery, if we prevailed (for lack of a better word) with odds like that. There are just so few people who get what Colin had, that the odds of my knowing anyone who develops the same or similar condition are just infinitesmal. And yet, and yet … I know the possibility is there. So every “yay,” with me is tinged with the knowledge that I might have to go through this again on some level. It’s a cliche, but it felt like a punch in the gut.

Similarly, we attended an video call baby shower last weekend. I remember attending my Mom’s funeral via Skype half a decade ago and that was novel enough of an experience that I wrote up an article about it. Now it’s just Sunday night. And it was great and we’re happy for the couple and, even though they read this blog, this is by no means meant to be a downer. But the worry never goes out of your mind. It’s like we all know that we’re all going to die some day, I just feel like I know it a little bit more than everyone else in the room.

So yes, I look forward to meeting babies still, even ones who might be related to me. I just wish I could unknow so much in this world.