Careful what you wish for

We had moved to Austin and it was unseasonably cold.  An ice storm prevented a dear friend from the east coast from visiting.  Tim and I took solace in expensive dinners and wine.  We were newly wed and new  to each other in so many ways.  We tried to embrace Austin as our great adventure.

I had left a fantastic job at The National Confectioners Association when we married.  Alone in Austin, I slept late in the morning, shopped for and prepared extravagant meals and romanticized the east coast.  Tim worked long hours but brought home flowers on numerous occasions.  We drank champagne and traveled.

So we were ill prepared when I missed my cycle.  Terrified.  And bereft.  Our extended honeymoon was rapidly ending.  I called Gran and tearfully related my situation.  She understood, having gotten pregnant on her actual honeymoon.  She assured me that our new stage would be equally as exciting if a little more challenging.

I set adrift.  Suddenly, I felt alien... to my new life, to my husband, to myself.  No more champagne.  No last minute travel.  Nauseous, I could no longer bring myself to cook.   I could feel myself withdrawing from the tidy little life we were beginning to carve out for ourselves. Doubt and anger nestled in my soul and I fought myself to regain a sense of sanity. I mourned my lost lifestyle.

And then, seemingly, an answer to my misguided prayers.  I began spotting at a friend's wedding.  Immediately, the halves of my heart severed.  I felt relief... and guilt.  I had longed to be released from what I had perceived more and more as a life sentence and then, when my wish had been granted, did I realize the portent, the grace which had been granted to me.  The loss was staggering, a serrated jab to the soul.  I felt hollowed, incomplete.  And responsible.  Tim had wept inconsolably as we drove away from the hospital.  I sat, numbed and shocked by my own duplicity.  Hadn't I willed this pregnancy to its end?

Our life moved forward.  We acquired a cat, a house, frequent flier miles.  I buried my grief, and my guilt.  We learned more about wine and how to prepare fish.  We befriended neighbors and hosted parties.

The rest of the story can be summarized in any suburban housewife's diary.  We got pregnant and returned to the east coast.  We had babies and pets and courted memberships with the zoo and the Smithsonian.  We added on to the house and changed jobs and stumbled toward 10 years of marriage.

But when its quiet, when the night has blanketed and the days worries have been  eradicated, the last meal fed, the last story told, when the sheets are tucked under chins, I wrap my arms around myself.  I quiet my soul and listen to my unsettled mind and wonder... what in life are we truly responsible for if not our deepest wishes?  For when they come true, you alone are holding the reins.