There is a book and school supply drive going on at work which is to benefit two day-care programs in town. A worthy cause, to be sure. A co-worker of mine brought in a children's book to donate and was telling our boss what a great book it was and how wonderful the author was, recommending it (and the author's other books) to her for her grandchildren, and I just tried my utmost to keep to myself, typing away, because Evelyn's nursery was/remains children's book themed and I don't want to look at one or have a conversation about one. I just don't. It's painful and yet another reminder of what should be but isn't. Another reminder of what other people have in their life (children to care and buy for) that we do not, and certainly not for lack of trying. Hoping against hope that she wouldn't stop by my desk to share it, making sure to look quite involved in my task, I kept my eyes cast down on my computer screen...and I guess I wasn't convincing enough because she stopped by anyway. "You would really love this book," she said, "it's such a wonderful story, so well written." I looked up and said, "I don't think I'll be buying any children's books for quite some time but thank you." To which she replied, "Well, I know, but maybe for someone else?"
And there in that short seven word sentence is the summation of the last nine years of our lives. Someone else,
always someone else. Someone else gets pregnant, someone else's family grows, there I go attending someone else's baby shower or someone else's child's birthday party. There we are buying a gift for someone else's kid for Christmas, engaging in a lengthy conversation about someone else's mothering experience, sending a congratulatory card or gift upon the birth of someone else's baby. Someone else's child who is
not born too soon, who does
not struggle to survive and who ultimately lives whereas ours does not...thus someone else's child gets to grow up, while ours will forever be 23 weeks and 3 days, 8 hours and 43 minutes.
This life we've been given, it's for us and us alone. I know that, and to some degree, I'm learning to adapt to it. And yet, there are pieces of my heart that I know will always ask the unanswerable: why? Why not us? Why always someone else? Why not Evelyn, too?
