One thing you would have learned about me as we got to know each other is that I hate surprises. I can usually avoid having to experience them pretty well. I can't remember the last time I was genuinely surprised by a present. When I was little, I would sneak around the house, looking under my parent's bed or in their closet (sorry, Mom and Dad!) for my unwrapped Christmas presents. If I couldn't figure out was I was getting that way, It was always way too easy to get my little brother to spill the beans. It would go something like this. Me: "Brandon, what did Mom and Dad get me for Christmas?" Him: "I'm not telling." Me: "Is it an iPod dock?" Him: "Maybe..."
I will never let Dad surprise me with presents either. I have honestly cried, on more than one occasion, when he has refused to tell me what he bought me for my birthday (embarassing, but true). Every time I've cried, he's cracked. Three years into our marriage, and we now have a pretty solid gift-getting system in place. I will go online and buy myself whatever I want, and then send him an email with the link to the gift I've purchased, saying something like, "here's what you bought me for Valentine's Day. It should be here in five to seven business days."
It's not just presents, either. I also hate surprises when it comes to things like movies and books. Once we decide on a movie to watch, I grab my laptop, pull up good old Wikipedia, and read the full plot summary, paying special attention to the ending. Then I spend the whole movie trying to get Dad to let me tell him what happens, and dropping hints like, "Hmmm, wouldn't it be so sad if that guy's daughter gets kidnapped...?"
When I start a new book, the first thing I do is flip to the back and read the last page. I need to know what happens. I can't enjoy the story until I know how it ends.
That is exactly how I feel right now. I thought I knew how the story of my pregnancy with you would end: "...and Stevie was born healthy and alive and she and her mom and dad lived happily ever after." But instead I experienced the biggest surprise, the biggest plot-twist ever. You died. When that happened, I thought your story was finished. But then, I realized your story, our story, is not over yet. I'm living it right now, day by day, page by page. I'm living in the middle of the novel of my life, my journey to motherhood, and I want to flip to the last page and see how it ends. To sneak a quick peak and see what happens.
I just want to know that one day, I will be happy again. If I could just look into the future and know for certain that in, let's say, three years, I will have at least one living child, I could relax and enjoy the time, the "pages" in between. I don't need to know exactly when, or how, or what gender, or any of the details, I just need to know that I will have another baby and that baby will live. It's the uncertainty of it all that is driving me crazy. Just tell me I'll have my happy ending someday and I'll be good. No more surprises, please.
The thing is, everything about you was a surprise, Baby. From your unplanned arrival, to the way you had me thinking you were a boy most of your life, to your shocking death. I may hate surprises, but I sure love you. My sweet little perfect surprise.
If one of your super special "angel powers" is the ability to see into the future, do mommy a favor and let me know what's coming up. At the very least, can you give me a little hint? :)
Love you. Miss you. Wish you were here.
2 hours ago