Realizations

The trials and tribulations of life are like a test. Whether we pass or fail, well, that depends on our ability to recognize this and learn from it. In trying to pass my life's toughest test, realization has embraced me in the form of a child.

I remember Saturday June 11 vividly. After working another thirteen hour shift and only getting paid for eight I was finally off for the weekend. As I made my way to the front office I encountered a new employee. Immediately, I felt a sense of resentment, thinking how unfair it is that we're both paid the same amount, especially since I've been here 3 years longer. But my job recently downsized, firing over 20 people and switching everyone remaining to salary. As a result, everyone now makes the same, regardless of tenure.

"I hate this!", I thought to myself as I turned my paperwork in to Mike, the morning supervisor who can only be described as a true "company man", always trying to engage everyone in some type of meaningless conversation. If that wasn't enough it's compounded even more so by the fact he seems oblivious to the dejected morale of the workers, as do most in upper management.

I try to make the process as quick as possible, giving him dry one word responses, hoping he'll get the point; No, I don't wanna talk about what another employee did. No, I didn't hear about the latest scandal in the workplace. Yes I'm still pissed at being paid the same as someone who's been here only 6 months!

But none of this works. He goes through the same predictable process of checking our paperwork for mistakes, turning a one to two minute procedure into a 10 minute yak-a-thon. I'm upset, but not as upset as I'd normally be. Today's a special day, the day my wife and I are celebrating our son's 6th birthday.

Although the actual birthday was 5 days earlier, we decided to push the celebration to today due to the birth of our youngest daughter, Erin, earlier this week. We didn't want a house full of guests admiring a beautiful newborn while ignoring the fact it was my sons birthday. I'd already seen that happen before and didn't wanna repeat of it.

But who could blame everyone for wanting to see the new angel, her arrival being so anticipated because her road here was so tumultuous.

Having children and celebrating birthdays, the newfound happiness in our home, these things weren't always the norm. The current climate is the calm after heavy storms in our lives. Previously, our relationship overflowed with anger. Arguments were plentiful, as were fights that would on occasion go way too far.

"Maybe that's why she'd leave," I'd think to myself. Maybe she saw the continuous problems we were having as becoming too predictable. That's the way I saw it and I always viewed that as a bad thing. Predictable problems in a relationship, seeing trouble before it happens; do that too much and you begin causing the problem, creating one where previously there was none.

In that atmosphere, I'd sometimes think maybe I forced her to leave me, our separations becoming more frequent and sustained, climaxing with one that lasted 1 year, 7 months and 8 days.

But we made it. Through it all we both seemed to come to a conclusion that our life's were hell apart. We talked, listened and found the heart that left us long ago. Relatives on both sides of our family were happy to see us smiling again. In my eyes I saw the completion of a family portrait, ready to be hung on display for the world to see.

Three kids, that's the magic number I always told myself in high school. Unlike my other failed dreams of college and career, this one was now complete. I'd often joke to myself," 3 kid mission accomplished, tubal litigation form awaiting your signature, Mrs. Burns," since she was sure this would be our last child, having already consulted with her doctor and okaying the procedure to be done after labor.

"How do you feel?" she asked as I walked through the door, taking notice of my fatigue.

"How do I look?" I thought. But that's a question I already knew the answer to as I stared at myself in the mirror.

I look like a man who hasn't slept in nearly 48 hours, working overnight and back and forth trips to the hospital, dealing with the ordeals of a high-risk pregnancy. Supportive and caring, she tries to convince me to go to sleep, take a nap before we begin the long list of today's activities. But I decline. There's too many things to do in preparation for the party. There's the cake to pick up, the food to prepare, the house to clean, contacting and confirming the appointment for the moonwalk, presents still to be gathered...

She offers to do these things while I get some rest, but once again I decline. She's been doing too much, especially after going through a cesarean child-birth. Also her blood pressure, a constant foe throughout the pregnancy, is still a threat. I tell her relax, I'll take care of the errands, fighting through the fatigue somehow. Still not willing to accept my answer, we reach a mutual agreement to divide the chores, her doing those outside the house, myself dealing with those inside.

The day turns into a marathon celebration of our son's birthday. I turn out some of the best barbecued hamburgers I've ever made, no small feat considering it's my specialty. More guests arrive than we anticipated, but they're accommodated, children enjoying the moonwalk and other festivities without incident. Surprisingly, I stay awake throughout the day, ignoring the fact that at the time I'd been awake for nearly 72 hours straight. The day winds down and that night my wife and I decide to watch a movie, nearing the end of which Erin wakes up.

My wife gets up and prepares to feed her, until I intervene. With the hectic schedule I've been on it's only the second night I've been home since she was born. I haven't even had a chance to sit down and relax with her in my arms, much less participate in feeding her. I tell my wife to go to bed, that I want to finally sit with my baby, to feed her and whisper to her. To look at her and tell her how much I love her. She agrees, and I take a seat in the sofa chair in our bedroom, holding Erin, watching as she suckles her bottle. After a few moments, she seems as though she doesn't want anymore, but she's hardly even finished it. I ask my wife, "What do I do, continue trying to feed her or put her in the bassinet?" She wakes slightly, telling me to burp her before trying to feed her again. If that doesn't work, tuck her in and come to bed because it's getting late."

I remember this distinctly because as I began to burp her I glanced over at the alarm clock. It was 12:30 a.m., pretty late by most people's standards but to a person who makes his living driving all night I thought nothing of it.

I remember the time because it's become etched in my memory as the one set of numbers I wish I could erase or go back to.

I remember the time because it's the last memory I have of that night.

When I awake I open my eyes to realize I'm still sitting in the chair in our bedroom. I glance over at the alarm clock, which now reads 6:00 a.m. I look down and realize I'm not holding my baby. I turn to the left, peering into the bassinet, but it's empty. Adrenaline immediately kicks in and with a sound of anxiety in my voice I utter, " Michelle, where's the baby? You got the baby?"

She bounces up, groggy and fighting off sleep, "No, you have her don't you?" As I proceed to get up from the chair, my world collapses all around me because now I see my angel, trapped between my left leg and the arm of the chair, still wrapped in her baby blanket. Her face is blue. There's a small amount of blood on her nose.

We scream. We scream for what seems like an eternity, "NO!!! NO!!!NO!!! NO!!!" Frantically, I try CPR while trying to call 911, or do I call 911 and then try CPR? My wife's ran outside screaming, her pain unleashed in a sound I can barely hear because I'm in shock. The 911 operator's trying to talk to me, but I can't make out what he or she's saying. My eyes, ears, and heart are transfixed on my baby, who's dead.

The coming days are like a dream, the apex of which finds me sitting alone in the restroom. Feelings of self hatred run so high it's hard to even register anything else. How could I have been so careless and irresponsible, so thoughtlessly fucking stupid? Everyone's shown support with a steady stream of phone calls and visits telling us to be strong.

But I'm not strong, I'm weak. I'm a weak, worthless failure who's destroyed my wife's heart and broken the picture of the complete family which used to hang on the wall in my mind. Nothing remains but self-hatred and depression. These thoughts prevail as I make movements I can't control.

I undo my belt and tie it around the bathroom doorknob. I loop the other end around my neck.

I slump forward. The belt immediately tightens, pressure building, causing my head to feel like it's going to explode. Darkness seems inevitable, but it's invited as the pain grows greater. Suddenly, my mind's bombarded with a flood of images.

I see my mother, crying for me. I see my wife, who before this tragedy befell us had become the woman I knew she always was. I see her crying. I see my two remaining children, their eyes unblinking, looking at me, staring as if asking for guidance.

Slowly, I go back on one knee, then the other as I begin to undo the belt from my neck. The images in my mind force me back to the realization that I'm making a mistake, yet another in a long list of many. How could I do this to them? Haven't I done enough already? In addition to being a grieving parent how could I make her a widow? How could I force my son and daughter to grow in this uncaring world without the both of us? How could I possibly even conceive of giving my mother more pain? How could I? How could I disrespect the memory of my angel by giving up? No. Realization slowly begins to set in. The realization that I'm repeating my life's previous mistakes and accepting defeat, now on a spiritual level as I've done on an educational and career level. When will it stop? When will my attempts to be happy finally bear fruit? I sit alone in the bathroom for what seems like an eternity, taking inventory of what I have and what I've lost, realization opening the doors of my mind to reflective thoughts, however painful.

I slowly begin to come to an understanding, realizing I have to learn from this despite the hurt. I have to become a better person, one who steers away from thoughts of self pity and detriment. I have to honor my angel's memory by becoming a better man, one she'd be proud to call father. A man that can raise his children successfully, giving them some of what they want and all of what they need. A husband whose wife knows he'll always take care of home, a son who can make his mother proud.

All these realizations given to me by an angel, an angel who helped me get off my knees and pass my test....e.b.Madman