My replacement...

I haven't written anything in a few weeks now, I really haven't had much to say.  Or maybe I've had too much to say, and wasn't really sure of where to begin again.  These two weeks have been confusing to process.  We welcomed our much anticipated third baby, Kendall Mae Thomas on March 25 at 7:54 AM. She was healthy and perfect, just as we prayed.  Although I was grateful to have my mom there with me; it broke my heart that she needed to be there.  I have been filled every minute of every day with confusion as to how I am feeling.  One second I look at this sweet girl and I beam with happiness, and the next I cry to her inconsolably for all that was supposed to be.  All of my children are the best gifts Dave has ever given me; but there will always be just that little something extra surrounding her.  I think part of the problem I have had in writing anything recently, or about her; is because there is a part of the story that has never been told.  A part that even Dave wasn't privy to until just a few weeks before he passed away.  That I was sure I was going to die...

From about half way through of my pregnancy with Kendall, I would have horrific panic attacks at least one night every weeks or so. They didn't start until after my SPD (a hip issue I was plagued with this go round) started and my dreams of a VBAC went out the window for good.  For no rhyme or reason I would go to lay in bed next to Dave, and rather then think about "normal" end of the day things, or any of the other million things I could have had in my mind; all I could think about was how sure I was that I wasn't going to survive the c-section I would be having.  Those that know me, know I am pretty fearless about medical type things; and very matter of fact.  Statistically chances of anything going wrong were virtually zero, or extremely close to it.  I knew on paper I was irrational, but it didn't matter.  I don't know what it was inside my heart and head, but I KNOW what my fate was going to be.  The month of February was particularly awful for me in that respect, and one night Dave became aware of my anxiety about it.  I woke up in the middle of the night with an uncontrollable panic attack.  He held me close, never asking what I was so upset about.  He was just there to hold me and let me know everything was ok.  The next night, just about a week before the accident, I again was having terrible anxiety before laying down.  Finally, I broke down and told him what I felt I knew.  I told Dave all of my hopes for him and the kids.  I carefully explained what I knew each of them would need emotionally from him.  I asked him to be softer with Colton and more patient (Dave was amazing with our kids, but at times Colton can be incredibly unreasonable and I am virtually the only one that can console him).  I asked him to spend time with Kamryn, not doing big things, but just listening to her, reading with her, or coloring a picture together.  She loves the small quiet moments spent together, they are the most valuable and important to her.  However, because she is so strong and self sufficient, sometimes it's easy to let those moments pass by.  I asked him to tell Kendall about me, and to raise her to be brave and strong.  I told him about the letters...

I was so sure that I was not going to live to make it out of that surgery, that I had painstakingly written each of these precious people letters.  It took me many weeks, late at night when I was crippled by the anxiety, and mostly sadness for what I was so sure I would miss.  I knew exactly what Kamryn and Colton would need to hear throughout their lives from me, all of the things I wanted to reassure them with, ask of them, and share with them.  I wrote to Kendall telling her of the things I wish I knew about her, and her about me.  My dreams for her, and about the exciting life her father would surely give her.  By the time I finished their letters, it was just a few days before Dave's accident.  I had by then come to a strange place of peace with my twisted secret, the fate I was surely expecting.  The night I told Dave about my fears,  we cried together.  He reassured me I was crazy, and hormonal and that all would be fine.  I know a small part of him believed me, not because he wanted it to be so, simply because of how sure I was.  I can't explain what it was about the feelings I kept having, but to me they were never a question... it was a sad fact that I was being clued in on by someone.  I was so sure and so factual with Dave, that he took in just enough of it to prepare himself.  Rather then dismissing me as irrational, he truly really listened.  Dave and I aren't incredibly religious, we don't attend a church or really even align ourselves specifically with any religion.  That night though, and this is the only time in all the years I have known him this happened; we prayed together.  We prayed that the surgery would be fine, and for God to let me watch our children grow up and enjoy their life with me in it.  beyond that night my fears seemed to subside.  I don't know if God took him as my replacement, and if he did I am not sure how that even makes me feel.  I am so grateful to be here watching our babies grow, I thank God and Dave for it everyday.  Would I have ever asked Dave to trade places with me if we knew what I believed to be certain? Never.  Our kids need him in ways totally differently but equally valuable to the way they need me.  But if someone would have asked him to make that choice, I know he would have given me the gift to keep being a mommy to these precious little loves.  I don't know if he prayed on his own about it, asking God to spare me? I don't want to make nonsensical assumptions.  I do know he spent so many years taking care of me and protecting me; that I would't rule it out entirely. 

It seems like such a fantastical story, and it is.  Had his accident not have unfolded as it did, I probably would have left the fears I was having in the past and never let them enter my mind again.  But the way everything surrounding Dave's death occurred, and in such a specific manner; I truly believe he had a reason to go that day.  I don't know that saving me was the entire reason, but I think it was certainly a part of the puzzle.  The details of his accident are almost unbelievable, everything was so precise.  The slightest alteration in direction, speed, or timing and EVERYTHING could have been different.  I will never know why it was him and not me, but I do truly believe he traded places with me and had he not gone that day; that I would not be here to write this. It's an odd part of our story, and as I said; I understand it sounds ridiculous.  That's ok with me.  Whether it was Gods choice, or Dave's own prayer that kept me here with our children, I will never know.  But I am forever grateful to him for always loving and protecting me, and for giving me the greatest gift I could ever receive; being their mom.