I am often overwhelmed with thoughts of love and admiration for my children. These feelings are so big, that I often feel my heart will burst at the inability to contain them all. Not only do I think they are creative, intelligent, funny, kind, empathetic, contributing members of society; they are the unsung heroes of our life story, especially the chapter entitled, Hart.
Whenever I mentally walk through the timeline of my pregnancy with Baby Hart and his brief life, the only doubts or regrets I feel are tied to my other children. These feelings are connected to very specific stops along our journey. The first was when we told them that our new baby "was not compatible with life." Watching their faces as they wrapped their minds around what we were saying is seared into my memory. Also, remembering their pain, grief and confusion after he died. As any parent knows, watching your children suffer is a gazillion times worse than suffering yourself. It is unbearable and hurts your very soul.
My amazing children were victims of our decision and I knew that they would ache and grieve and never be the same after losing their brother. I worried that Hart would appear scary to them (often children with trisomy 18 are born with physical anomalies that I worried could be upsetting for my small children). I worried that he would die while one of them was holding him. I worried that they would feel responsible, neglected, unsettled, disconnected and unable to bond. I worried that Hart would die at our home and that we would become an urban legend-children would ride their bikes extra fast as they passed our house, pointing and saying, "That's the house babies die in." I worried they would be angry. I worried that they would be afraid. I worried that their childhoods would end abruptly as happens when real life interrupts the magic of innocence. I worried they would be anxious, that they would learn that sometimes babies die. And I worried that they wouldn't receive the support they needed to properly grieve (as if there is such a thing).
And if I'm being completely honest, some of these worries came to fruition, some did not, and some popped up that I hadn't anticipated. My oldest daughter came home from school one day and told me that another student accused her of making the whole thing up. And while she definitely has a knack for the creative, I was flabbergasted that any child would think another child capable of making something like this up. (And I was kicking myself because "it's all made-up" hadn't even made it to my list of many worries.)
For all of the heartache that we "willingly" caused our children, what came out on the other side was nothing short of miraculous. To this day, my children are empathetic, sympathetic, and insightful. They have a grasp on putting life in perspective that is well beyond their years. They know some battles are worth fighting and some just aren't. When others grouse about how stinky, disappointing and unfair life is, they know that is true and that in spite of those things, or maybe because of them, life is so beautiful. They have firsthand knowledge that life is precious and unpredictable; that disappointments are relative; that being unkind is never worth it. They know that they live in a world full of unknowns, and things that aren't easily understood, but erring on the side of love is the right thing to do and is much easier to live with. They start from love and end in love, time and again, even when it's bumpy along the way. I don't think these are things I would have known how to teach them. I know it could have turned out very differently for them, I've seen that. They could be filled with fear, anger, hate and conceit. And living in and acting from any of those places usually doesn't bode well.
We knew none of us would ever be the same, but I definitely believe we are better people because of baby Hart.
One thing I didn't worry about, but perhaps I should have, was what any of us looked like. It seemed completely unimportant at the time, but looking back, I am reminded of what a hot mess we actually were!
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