I Dreamt a Dream

As early as 1996, I knew definitively that I wanted to be a dad. I've always loved kids and gotten along well with them, so it made sense to me to want a few of my own. I know that this desire is due in part to the fact that I had a great dad of my own. My dad had a great dad too, and I wanted to carry on with this tradition of excellence in fatherhood. After all, we emulate our heroes and those two smart, compassionate, loving men have ever been a pair of my biggest. The ken to be like my patriarchs wasn't the only factor, but the rest eludes my ability to describe. I know it was largely love that drove my dreams, but otherwise I can't explain it. I imagine that a large portion of my female readers can empathize with me. There's a ...need not just to procreate and pass your genetic heritage on, but to make something so special that you'll love it immediately and forever; do things for them or give things up that you wouldn't do for anyone else. And now I've tasted it. I was given a brief, shining moment of glory and grace with my Avery Marie. Life is cruel though and the same fate that blessed Erin and I with her for those bright summer months, snatched her away. There was no warning. There was no chance to say goodbye. In the morning I woke her and fed her and smiled at her smiles. Always the happy baby, Avery opened her eyes and instantly smiled at me. By evening though her smiles were gone forever, stolen from all of us for a moment of inattention. I will always remember that last smile, but painfully, I will also remember wailing in the hospital room, her still body growing cold in my arms. I will remember the incoherent phone call from Erin where I could understand her just enough to ask to talk to the officer at her side. I will remember driving 90 mph across back roads, violently shaking and half blind from tears, madly thinking that if I could just get there in time things would be ok. That didn't happen though, and things aren't ok. I've caught myself going upstairs to wake Avery up only to realize halfway that she's not there. I'm insanely jealous of other parents. Erin goes into a panic whenever she sees or hears an emergency vehicle now. My daughter is gone and it's not ok. 

I know from others who have experienced a similar loss that the days get easier. I understand in my head that the pain will ease and that we'll keep moving down the road of our lives. My heart trembles at the prospect of the future though. Erin told me yesterday that she used to count weeks to mark how old Avery was. Now, she counts weeks since we lost her. Today is the third week and it's hard. Saturday will be the day she would have been five months old and it'll be hard. And next month? Hard. Thanksgiving? Christmas? Her first birthday? The anniversary of her death? The births of friends' babies? All hard. Still, we know we want children. That dream is still alive in us. I know that the immensity of my heartache is a reflection of my love for Avery, and I refuse to let that love die with her. Her younger siblings will all know about her, and we will love them with the same ferocity that we loved her. I love you, Avery Marie. I miss you.