Reflecting and recounting

A lot has happened. I feel silly speaking of any of it on this blog since four of the people that read this blog also read my wife's blog, and already know a lot of our happenings.
In short order, they are:
We are in the horrible process of buying a house right now. The incompetence of all involved in procuring financing for houses is spectacular to me. I didn't know that getting a loan could make me want to continue renting. But there you go. We should get the keys tomorrow, but I have heard that for the last 3 weeks, so whatever.
I passed the bar exam. That does not mean that I was adequately prepared or marginally intelligent, but it does mean that there were amazing, faithful people praying and rooting for me and that a kind Father and a sweet daughter were helping in otherworldly ways. I am grateful not to ever have to take that exam again.

I am now General Counsel for a mid sized corporation. That means that I have gone from knowing nothing ("he's in law school, let's ask an attorney") to being expected to now know the answer to questions on many topics, ranging from employment law, ERISA (medical insurance) law, intellectual property law, engineering malpractice, corporate governance, securities transactions, and many others. I just named those because I have been asked to weigh in on those items since I was sworn in on the 2nd of December as a person who should know the answers. I am glad I learned how to research in school.

Let me explain something that I only want to type, and not to talk about, and yet must communicate at some point soon. Losing a child, for me, is a much different experience than it has been for my wife, my other children, or anyone else. No duh. However, some things are the same. I feel a lot of the things that my wife feels, but my schedule, role, and personality cause me to react and express those emotions differently. An expression of grief at work would make others feel uncomfortable. If I cried during one of the MBA classes it would not go unnoticed. And the weird thing is, since it has been 6 months since our loss, I think that I would understand if people said, "yeah, but that was like 6 months ago, right? Why is he crying now?"

The anxiety that comes with the unexplainable death of a child is unmatched in my understanding of things. I know that there are worse things out there, but in my life, this has been the pinnacle. The initial loss was soothed by my religious beliefs, but the ramifications, logistical and mental, are not as easily reconcilable.

For instance, our other children were not going to take a hiatus from needing food, clean clothes, baths, or loving and positive attention. When you don't want to get up and face the day anyway, the thought of waking up to an accumulated mess just adds to the bed's allure as a place of respite. The many pressing legal issues of a corporation will not wait either. Logistically, it is tough to take time to mourn when life doesn't take time off.

The mental ramifications have been staggering, even for someone who loves logic. I work in a field that is defined by logic and reasoning, but I can't haven't yet totally reasoned my way out of the almost crippling fear I feel, even to this day sometimes, when I am walking down the hall to check on the baby in his crib. First of all, the fact that I feel the need to check on him is totally because of fear. I would never have checked on a sleeping baby before. The sleeping time is the one time you shouldn't have to worry about a baby. It is really the only rest of a parent's day. Not now. Now I worry all through the sleeping time. So every once in a while I go check on him. If I find him breathing, it will only help me feel better until I walk out of the room and can't see his chest rising and falling, letting me know that he is still here. But I check because not knowing that that is still happening means that I can wonder if it is still happening. at first, I think, "Is the baby okay?" Then, I think, "Am I being prompted to go in there right now, or am I just worrying?" When that thought comes, I have to check. So, I walk down the hallway to see him.

As I walk, the whole time must reason with myself that the baby is still breathing. Fear makes my heart feel like it will explode. I feel like I want to run to make sure he is okay, but I also feel like I want to stop existing so that I can't go in there and see that he has stopped breathing. In the struggle, the logic and the desire to see him breathing triumph over the fear and I keep walking. When I hear his pig-like snorting with his stuffy nose, I silently congratulate him for his efforts and am instantly proud of him to being so strong and healthy, sleeping like a baby. I feel a surge of thanksgiving that honestly has not waned even a bit in the past 6 months. I am not sure how long it will last, but every time I see any of our three living children, even the oldest, asleep and breathing, I feel proud of them and thankful that I did not find them otherwise.

I am tired a lot, but am thankful for the many blessings that I have received this year.

I miss my Little Miss more than anyone knows.