Those Empty Eyes

A conversation from last night's Private Practice [in a hospital, man's wife just died -- it's taken out of context, but hopefully you get the gist]:

Man: The thing is, I can't leave without my wife. And I can't leave with her, so I can't leave. . . Did you feel this way, when you lost your child?

Woman: Well, walking out that door was the hardest thing I ever did. But yeah, I did feel this way.

Man: You've got that "dead kid" face. I'm sorry, that didn't come out right.

Woman: It's alright. What do you mean about my face?

Man: Your eyes, you've been some place that most people have never been. You've survived something that no one would've wanted to survive. It's your eyes. They're, I don't know . . . empty.

Woman: It doesn't have to be dead kid. It could just be bad life.

Man: No, it's dead kid.

********

I wonder if I have a dead kid face? Are people looking at me and thinking, "Oh, for sure, dead kid." I wonder if my eyes are empty. I don't think they are . . . at least I hope not.

A Little Frustrating

I am not easily offended. I've come to accept the fact that I will probably never carry a baby to full-term (ie. 40 weeks). Because of my chronic hypertension, I am (and will probably always be) considered a high-risk pregnancy. I know what it feels like to be thankful for every day that I'm pregnant. But there are times that I hear women complain about their pregnancies, and the devil on my shoulder thinks, "Bitch, if you only knew!" And the angel on my shoulder thinks, "What a blessing, thank your lucky stars!"

There is a part of me, though, that thinks that I would never take that innocence away from her. Because the alternative, being on this side of the statistics, outliving a child, writing a blog dedicated to my dead son . . . I would much rather be running around with my menacing and adorable 19-month-old.

Okay, now help me off my soapbox . . . I'm getting old! :)

First 2010 Post

I wanted to write the requisite "New Year" post, but I found myself without anything constructive to say. The past few days have been difficult. 2009 was the first complete year that we were without Dylan, but we were also blessed by the birth of our beautiful daughter. That's the strange dichotomy we must balance from here on out. Celebrating the life and milestones that is our newest family member, while simultaneously honoring and always remembering and missing our sweet son.

So in honor of Dylan with much love, we decided to make a donation to the hospital and let that speak for itself: