After a year and three months, I paid the bill for our deductible for Alex's delivery. I paid it while sitting in Samuel's hospital room. But it felt like I turned a corner in that moment...moved forward somehow.
There I was again, in that place dealing with a situation that was entirely beyond my control. In a lot of ways, Sam taught me the most valuable lesson I could have learned. Throw a fit. Scream and yell and cry. And make it good and loud so you wake the neighbors and everybody knows how this sucks. And then have a chocolate chip cookie and watch some cartoons and move past it. Find the playroom and enjoy yourself. Continuing the fit ain't gonna change a damn thing about where you are at the moment except to give you a red nose, high blood pressure, and a hoarse voice from the screaming. And everybody agrees...it sucks that this is the way it is...but there is no magical cure. So deal with it the best you can.
It was time to let go of the anger and the pain. It's not going to bring Alex back. It's not going to make me more of a mommy. But it can make me less of a mommy if I'm not careful. I realize I have identified with women who have lost babies. Where are the women with whom I can identify having a four-year-old child? I have closed them out...all of them. I have lost sight of the mommy I AM by focusing on the mommy I'm not.
It's time to have a chocolate chip cookie, acknowledge how it sucks, and move forward. If my four-year-old son can do it, I should be able to.