negative

6 weeks out from my vasectomy reversal, I cashed in one of my left over semen-analysis from my vasectomy.

When they called me to say it was negative (no sperm), my first feeling (and I say feeling instead of thought, because I wouldn't truly think this, but nonetheless it is how I felt) was, " I can't bring him back."



I know that isn't what we are trying to do. I was the one to first say that we should never allow it to be looked at that way. I will raise my third child to know that she or he is a very special someone that fate brought to us. (aww, isn't my defiant optimism cute?) But I guess somewhere deep inside there is that hope that a piece of him would enter this world through his younger brother or sister. Letting my heart place its focus there allowed it to quit screaming for someone to tell me my baby isn't dead.


We are just shy of four months of this shaded reality we now live in. As so many others have accurately depicted it: this shadow-world, where you live the same life as before, but it is all washed in black, stained and just a little out of focus (Thank you Pearl Jam, you can bet that song takes on new meaning these days) Every day I shuffle to work and interact with classrooms full of reminders of what my son will never be. Every day I muffle my screaming heart as I look at kids whose parents look at them like 18 year prison sentences; they're beaten and neglected; taught at the dawn of puberty to flaunt their perceived-to-be only valuable asset; and my pain rages at these parents, ungrateful for the gift they've received.



Getting past that, there are still a dozen little reminders, every day, that make that lump rise in my throat. Thankfully most work days go by fast enough that I can't stop to feel bad, but it is still a daily struggle, and I imagine it will continue to be for quite some time.

For my wife and I both, we've got through life by trying to laugh through the tough times. As you can imagine, we now try to laugh perhaps more than ever before. We try to bring as much light to this shadow-world as we can. Maybe we're just trying to distract ourselves, or maybe we're just trying to find whatever foothold we can to get up, out and back into the sun.

I don't think the shadows could ever go away, and I don't know that I'd want them to; but if we can help spread a little more light, and help others shoulder the pain and confusion, that might be nice. Not to make something special out of ourselves, but to just let people know that this is where we live, and there are a lot of us, living here silently among the world, looking for peace.


So yes, I'm the father of a dead baby, and I still whine and cry about it, and my loss has absolutely turned my world upside down: revealing truths, severing ties -- admittedly making me a bit more of a loon than I was before. If that should warrant my being some sort of a spectacle to be whispered about, then so be it, because I doubt I'm thinking/feeling/doing much different than anyone else.



Coming soon: The Quest - hope is not lost