A year ago, I was in the throes of birthing our 6th child. It was an emotional time for us as a couple. Less than a year earlier we had watched our 5th child die, now we were moments from her younger brother being born. 2008 held misery. The early morning hours of 2009 held healing. We had come full circle, living through both extreme grief and extreme joy.
A few months after the death of our daughter and a few months into my pregnancy with our son, I had a dream. It was one of those chaotic early pregnancy dreams. I wanted to divorce my husband and marry another. However, when I looked at this man, my real husband, who shared the memories of the birth and the death of my precious little Emily, I knew I could never walk away from him. The worst day of my life was the worst day of his life. I awoke from that dream in tears.
A husband and wife share not only a bed, but life events. His pain is my pain. His joy is my joy. The babies I’ve birthed have been his babies too. And the child I buried, he buried as well.
It is easy to get caught up in our differences. It is easy to proclaim, “He just doesn’t understand me!” It is easy to see everything from our own point of view and ignore the fact that circumstances that affect us affect our husbands as well. The financial strains, the wayward child, the too-small house are all circumstances that each member of the family must deal with in their own way. It is part of our story. It is a section of the path the Lord has set before us.
I walk this road with my husband at my side. Sometimes we are holding hands and all seems sun-shiny. Other times he feels a million miles away and I trudge along, feeling sad and alone. Yet when I glance over at him, I am able to see someone who knows the same joy and the same pain I know. He knows the bliss of being the first pair of human hands to hold his child. He knows the hot tears and heaving sobs of grief. We share too much to break from the path and go our separate ways.