There are many definitions of what makes a family. From the mainstream nuclear to extended, what I can remember off the top of my head from school many moons ago. Personally, I feel the family definition has been skewed to fit people’s desires so they don’t get “butt hurt” because they don’t fit into some pretty box.
Enough about that. The bigger reason I bring up family is because mine is expanding after many years of waiting. It’s gonna be a big shock to the system, but one that will be well worth it. Losing even more sleep (and deciding not to try and figure out where it went) and trying to cut back on caffeine to no avail feel very near in my future. All so I’ll be around as long and as healthy as possible to give this new season in life everything I have.
So….really fucked up for me to read the beginning of this post so long after I started it. Damn…not what I meant to start with, but I suppose it’s where I need to go from. It fucking hurts to re-read this and see the picture of Steph in the kitchen in her element. I just got 2 loaves of sourdough bread ready to pop in the oven tonight as Steph is resting in her hospital bed in our bedroom. Not the way I imagined this year would start, not even fucking close. Damn. Wish I was more creative with my words right now, but (want to say more severe things, but Steph really hates it when I take the Lord’s name in vain.) This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Fuck.
I’ve realized it’s easier to not feel, to not acknowledge, not think about everything that’s happened in the last 4 fucking months. Yes, I’ve most definitely become more belligerent in my language. Whether or not that’s a good thing, take it or leave it. Right now I don’t know anything else. In some ways I wish I did, but at the same time I’m not sure that would help.
As far as I know we all grow up looking forward to starting a family of our own, and growing old with our spouse as we model love for our children. Steph and I won’t ever get that chance as far as biological children are concerned, and that tears us both up inside. I know we both need to see specialized councilors for what we’ve been through, and I finally realized yesterday that a big part of why I don’t want to do that is that it means acknowledging that the last 4 months really did happen. This shit-hole of a situation we find ourselves in is our reality.
No, if I had the opportunity I would never have chosen this situation, but it’s the one Steph and I find ourselves in. We know one day we’ll see our 6 children in heaven. We know one day we’ll know only joy. I hate that for now we experience the pain of knowing we held our sweet baby and didn’t even get to hear her cry in this world. The other thing that makes this process hard is that Steph and I aren’t processing things at the same time, or in the same way, and boy is that a bitch and a m-fucker.
When Steph has posted on Facebook, she has overall been the more positive of the two of us. I have no idea why that is. (Definitely read hers over mine if you’ve got more delicate tendencies or kids around that read over your shoulder). Maybe because I’ve been able to do the literal fuck yous at God a number of times while waiting to find out if she was going to make it, or get out of the next surgery alright, or some other shit that was going down. Probably happened during a few of the late nights as well. Not sure if I’ll ever know, though I’ve come to the point where it doesn’t matter to me, which makes the times that Steph wonders why things have happened even harder for me to work through with her. It would be really easy for me to just brush the questions off by saying that I don’t care, but that would hurt her healing journey. And God damn, I don’t care who you are. Every fucking time that happens I have to just hold myself back, check my intentions, and often just nod and listen. In my head all I want to do is run away, but that wouldn’t help my wife in that time, and she’s all that matters.
So once again, I’m gonna say fuck you God. I don’t care that you do everything for our good, that you have a plan, that your plan is perfect and all that. Screw you. Everything Steph and I have wanted in life, mainly being a big family and being able to enjoy road trips and such, all fucking out of the picture at the moment. We’re only beginning to mourn never being able to have our own biological kids (fuck, can barely see the words as I type), and that’s one of the big things that my gut tells me Steph will likely forever hold in her heart as something she can never give. Won’t make me love her any less.
Going off that, there are a lot of things that hurt in hind-sight. The biggest one being that at least one person has said they would be a surrogate for us. Fuck. Part of me does wish I would have thought to save Steph’s eggs….but most of me says that’s 150% fucked up. Why the hell would you think about that while she’s fighting for her god damn life. God I hate this process. I’m not a really outgoing person, but was drawn to writing these posts since it drains the shit out of me to even think about keeping a bunch of people updated with all that’s gone on. One post and everyone’s updated. Slightly puts me at ease. Back to the surrogate thing. Yes, I do wish I had thought about that, which hurts so much more in hindsight. I can still see and feel Gretchen’s hair. The thought of possibly having the opportunity for that again….tears me the fuck up.
We still haven’t chosen an urn for her ashes or held a memorial service. God help me. I can’t even think about that. It hit Steph hard earlier today seeing the container with Gretchen’s ashes. I must have become numb to that sight. Shit. I didn’t realize right away while she was doing one of her walks, and then fuck…she was looking right at them. It hurt to see and hear her in pain. Thinking back to that it puts me in this space where all I want to listen to is Disturbed, Black Label Society, and other heavy shit. TobyMac and the awesome hiphop he’s written (knowing why he wrote some of it) is fucking incomprehensible. Goes back to a previous post where it ripped me the fuck up hearing it while I was working on our new shower. I don’t want to forgive God for the fucked up shit he put us through, and I sure as hell am still mad at him. Yes I still pray and talk to him, but fuck, why the hell is Steph and my journey still this god damn hard. We’ve been blessed in that she’s been cured of Lyme’s disease and all its adverse effects. She’s had other things pop up, but never this damn bad. And to people reading this, yes, we’ve both probably been dealing with some sort of depressions, but while I’ve leaned to stronger language, I still have what I’d consider to be a strong faith. I can’t wait till we’re at a point where I can play on the worship teams at church, but that feel years away to me. I don’t want Steph to feel like I’m abandoning her with the time it takes me to prepare to play for a service.
For now, while it feels so incomplete, I’m gonna attempt to close this post out. Steph is hopefully asleep by now, and I prepare for the late night med push (and eventually very early morning push), There is so much more I feel like I should be saying, but I’m going to restrain myself and call it quits for the night. Thank you to those that have stuck it out to the end. And to those that are inclined, please keep the prayers coming. We’ve got a god damn long fucking road ahead. Too many long nights to go, and more break downs at work than I can even imaging that will happen.
‘Til next time…
Livin' The Schmidty Lyf 
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