Boy oh boy has life been rough!
It's funny- because Ryan got home in February- and I think a part of me just expected that once Ryan was home all of the problems would be over. And according to cultural standards, really everything should be fine. I have my husband back after all, so what is their to be sad about? What is their to be depressed about? What could possibly drive you to a point of wanting to drink so much alcohol- that the next morning you can't even wake up to your own babies crying- that your husband- who just got done fighting for our country- has to do your job?
That last (run-on) sentence is a place I never thought I'd find myself. I always fantasized about being a mom. I know- I know- kind of a stretch to call it a fantasy because being a mom is a real thing. When I use the word fantasize I mean, I unrealistically thought of how I could juggle being this fun, cool mom, who always had the house cleaned, who always baked the best cookies, and her family was perfect. If most of you are wondering if I've ever seen the Stepford Wives- the answer is no. If most of you wonder if I've put all my stock into being a Stepford Wife/mother- the answer is yes.
Two weeks ago- my counselor asked me to think about one thing: what would it look like if your house of cards fell down? What would it look like if their was an illness, or perhaps a financial crisis, or if Ryan got deployed again.
A week later I got my answer, when my oldest child (2) threw one of her temper tantrums,and had a seizure for the 3rd time in her short life. This seizure was much more scary than any other had been- even though I had Ryan here with me. Because Ryan being there didn't stop the seizure. And Ryan couldn't save her. I couldn't save her.
I'll spare you the details but in short- we later found out that our daughter has epilepsy. And suddenly- those cards fell right down to the ground. I didn't love my daughter any less- if anything, if it's possible, I came to love her more. But the rug beneath my feet was swept out from under me. All last week I spent tossing my feelings left and right, grappling with everything that had happened to me in the last five years of my life.
And now I'm left to face the reality: I haven't forgiven myself for the baby that I miscarried last November.
