Joy + Sorrow = Life

In November of 2014 I preparing was to take grenades during Michigan's lame duck legislative session. Our legislative sessions run two years then reset. That makes the last few weeks of a session, known here as lame duck, really crazy. It's a time where anything (or sometimes nothing) can happen. 

I was having lunch with a colleague, sitting down for the first time that day. As we got our food my phone rang, and it was our adoption agency. I'm not generally one to answer the phone during lunch, but this was different. The caseworker (the same one we'd worked with 18 months before) informed me we had been chosen by a birth mother who was having a boy in a few weeks. The due date was a little uncertain, but if all went well we'd be parents before the holidays. So that's how my colleague, not my husband, became the first person to know we were having a baby.

My husband was negotiating a transportation funding package on behalf of the Governor's team, and he didn't respond to my text to call me. I then texted him in all caps that we were getting a baby, and he stepped out of his meeting. We agreed to be more cautious this time. We'd tell our employers and families but would really guard ourselves in case she changed her mind. 

A few weeks later we met our birth mother, her caseworker and her best friend for breakfast. Unlike 18 months earlier I felt more calm. Instead of dressing like a Stepford wife I wore jeans and a sweater. She immediately put me at ease and made me feel like I was the one who was pregnant. She asked me what we were going to name him and if we had pictures of his nursery. I began to get my hopes up. 

We headed home to wait, and I texted regularly with our birth mom. On a December Saturday I headed to the office hoping to wrap up a few things before his arrival. I would be starting a new position at my organization after maternity leave, so I felt a little pressure to get things tied up. It also happened to be our sixth wedding anniversary, but we were distracted. I got the text from her birth mom that it was time to go. We live an hour from the hospital, so I was anxious to get on the road. 

I texted my husband and headed the half mile home. He wasn't there and seemed to take a really long time to arrive. When he got there he had roses for our anniversary. It was lovely, and I shoved them in a vase before we ran out the door.

I don't remember the drive. I remember telling the nurse we were waiting for our son to be born. At first they didn't seem to know what to do with us, but then they put us in a birthing suite to wait. The nurse came in and turned on the warmer, telling us it wouldn't be much longer. Just after 3:30 in the afternoon the nurse came in with a little bundle that was our tiny son. 

The nurse asked if I wanted to be skin to skin with the baby, and of course I did. While she weighed and measured him, I slipped into a hospital gown. I held my brand new baby close to my chest and marveled that he was here. I was in love with him immediately.

The next day his birth mom wanted to see him which of course we supported. It was an unseasonably warm December day, so my husband I walked around the hospital. We took our time and returned to our room about 45 minutes later. The baby wasn't back, and I began to panic that she'd changed her mind. I was breathing shallow breaths trying to calm myself. The delivery room nurse we'd met the day before walked in and saw my face. She reassured me: "She's sure, Samantha. She's just saying goodbye." 

A few minutes later the nurse brought our son back. His birth mom was released from the hospital that day, but we stayed a few days because he had low blood sugar. We headed home four days after his birth, in awe of our perfect little small human.

Taking a walk with our tiny new addition

Newborn photos, December 2014

I was really tired with a newborn, but I refused to complain. I loved having a baby. I hear stories of moms who don't shower for days and don't have time to do anything. We had a revolving door of friends over. I showered every day and made appetizers. I was tired, but I was running on adrenaline. He was here, and I was going to love every minute of it. 

After a few months of maternity leave I headed back to work in a new job. I was no longer lobbying but running a foundation. I loved the less hectic schedule that didn't hinge on the whims of the legislature. 

Our birth mom told us one of the reasons she chose us was because we love to travel. We didn't disappoint her as we headed to West Virginia for the first time when he was two months old. He visited Nashville and northern Michigan his first summer. Our child joined our team, and he was a trooper. 

My health was great all year. All evidence showed the blood clot I had in the summer of 2014 was gone, so I was able to stop taking blood thinners. I was training for the New York Marathon, and I felt like 2014 was far behind me.

In the fall I was coming home from my work's conference in northern Michigan when my mom called to ask for help. My parents never ask me for help, so I knew it was a big deal. My dad had been dealing with congestive heart failure for 13 years at that point, and he had a routine heart catherization the following week. Unfortunately my mom was sent to a cardiologist where they informed her she'd need an emergency heart cath two days before my dad's. She wouldn't be able to drive for a week, so there'd be nobody to drive dad home from the hospital. I immediately told her we'd be there.

My mom had her heart cath on Monday and all went well. After work on Tuesday my husband, ten month old son and I drove to West Virginia. On Wednesday morning my dad (an alpha driver) drove us to the hospital.

I headed home to get mom during the procedure, and we waited in the waiting room until it was done. The doctor met us and told us dad's heart was very weak, and his "widow maker" artery was 100 percent blocked. He recommended bypass surgery as soon as possible. He said Dad would either have the surgery or have a massive heart attack and die. Those were the options.

Dad's surgery would take place the following week, but they kept Dad in the hospital. My husband and I stayed the rest of the week, and I drove mom back and forth to visit Dad. On Saturday my husband and I took our son to his first West Virginia football game where he fell asleep in a loud stadium before halftime. 

Baby Will and Pap Pap, September 2014

On Saturday night I went to the hospital by myself where my dad and I drank coffee (regular because we're not quitters) and watched football. Arizona was playing, and former West Virginia coach Rich Rodriguez was their coach. We talked about Rich Rod and college football and how Dad was feeling. As always my dad would say, "I'm fine. You're the one who is really sick." It was the last time I would talk to my dad about football or anything, and that night is one of my favorite memories. 

Before we left Sunday morning we stopped in to see Dad. As we got in the car to leave I started sobbing. I asked my husband "What if he doesn't know how much I love him and I never get to tell him again?" It was the first time I realized I was terrified.

We drove home, but I was planning to fly back Tuesday morning, the day of Dad's surgery. I wouldn't see him before surgery, so I was so grateful for the four days I'd had with him. They will always be four of the most precious days of my life. I arrived at the airport in Pittsburgh on Tuesday in time to talk to my dad on the phone before he headed back to surgery. My mom and siblings were all at the hospital, and I arrived during surgery.

The doctor emerged grimly, taking us into one of those awful little conference rooms. He said Dad's heart was very sick, and we'd have to see how he would do when he woke up. They took him to ICU where he did not wake up from anesthesia for several days. He did wake up ,and I flew back to Michigan on Thursday hoping he was on the upswing.

The next day my sister called and said they were airlifting Dad to Allegheny General Hospital in Pittsburgh. Less than 24 hours after I arrived home my husband, son and I drove the 5 hours to Pittsburgh. 

That weekend Dad woke up and seemed to be recovering. He had an impatient edge which was not like him, but he was awake and talking. We thought it might take a while to recover, but he was alive. 

On Sunday my siblings and I drove back to our respective homes in Michigan and Virginia, under the impression that our dad was going to be okay. On Tuesday my mom called and said he'd taken a turn and we should come back, prepared to say goodbye. 

I stood in my closet starring at clothes and lost it when I realized I was packing for my father's funeral. My son would never remember his Pap Pap. My invincible father was going to die, and my heart was breaking. 

When we got back to Pittsburgh Dad was already on life support. My mom, siblings and I were all in the room while life support was disconnected. It was the worst thing I've ever witnessed, and more than six years later I can't type this without crying. He was gone.

There was a funeral to plan. My best friend flew up from Texas and walked my son around the funeral home in a stroller for hours so I could greet people. I saw high school classmates I hadn't seen in nearly 20 years. My dad's brothers and sister were there and my cousins. It was terrible, yet it was oddly wonderful to feel so supported. 

My ex-mother-in-law, with whom I had been very close and hadn't seen since the divorce, arrived. She walked up and hugged me like no time had gone by, and I felt a closure I didn't know I needed. My mom was holding my son near the casket, and my ex-MIL walked up to talk to her. She took Will from my mom, and I saw myself looking at my alternative life. Then I looked at my husband, my absolute rock and best father in the world and was thankful that my life had taken the best turns.

We headed home after the funeral exhausted and filled with grief. I was still training for the New York Marathon, and I'd completed a few long runs while Dad was sick. But it was mid-October, and the race was November 1. My long run was 15 miles, and I wouldn't get a longer one in before 26.2.

Just a few weeks after losing my dad my husband and I traveled to New York with two of our closest friends so I could run the marathon. We went on a food tour of the City, and I drank too many cocktails. The morning of the race I realized I hadn't packed any fuel. I grabbed a handful of almonds that I had in the room and bought a cappuccino at Dunkin' Donuts at the ferry terminal before we headed to Staten Island. One we docked I had another cappuccino and waited hours before my wave of the race took off. 

Feeling strong at mile 8

Unlike my other marathons where I had time goals I just wanted to enjoy myself and finish. I thought a lot about my dad as I ran 26.2 miles with 50,000 others. Around the half marathon point I realized I was starving, but I ridiculously hadn't planned any fuel. I saw my husband and our friends several times along the race course, and that kept me going. 

I choked up as I crossed the finish line in Central Park. I knew my dad was with me that day, finally strong enough to run with me. When I found my husband and our friends my husband was elated. "You took 30 minutes off your best time!" I couldn't believe it. Somehow without training or fueling I managed to run my best marathon. I did immediately go to a street vendor and order a hot dog and regular (NOT Diet) Coke. 

With my amazing husband after 26.2

In the last month of the year my son went on his first plane ride as we visited my BFF in Austin. We gathered together in the Outer Banks to celebrate a first Christmas without Dad.

It had been about a year and a half since my hospitalization, and physically I felt great. I'd had a year of the most extreme joy and sorrow, and my body felt strong. I was hopeful that my Crohn's was in a better place, and I could spend time focusing on my beautiful son and healing my heart as I headed into 2016.