Duck on a Pond

As Allison recently intimated, many have (understandably) inquired into our well being as of late. I have found the question of "how are you?" to be a very difficult one to answer. My stock answer is that I'm "okay," which is an essentially accurate, albeit grossly oversimplified, response. For the most part, I really am okay. Nothing more, nothing less. I am functioning, both at work and at home, but I truly am a duck on a pond. The surface view is calm, but underneath, my feet are constantly moving to keep me afloat.

The interior tumult directly results from the conflicting emotions that I feel. The tumult is even greater now that, seemingly all of the sudden, his arrival is almost upon us. I eagerly await the day that I get to meet my son, but for that to happen, he must leave the place where he is the most safe. The outside world brings danger (to him) and doubt and fear (to me), but I long for the opportunity to continue to get to know him. (And I do mean continue. Even though Ayden is still in Allison's womb, I feel like he and I have already formed a relationship, like he already has a personality. It's as if he knows that it's me - his father - when I touch Allison's belly, because he responds. It's like he knows that I'm there. Even if that's merely an illusion, I'm grateful to God for it.)

I'm excited for his arrival, but I'm fearful that his presence on this Earth will be very brief. The potentiality that I may never really get to hold him is an impossible thing to digest. And there are much darker thoughts than that: Will I get to play catch with him? Take him to his first Clemson game? Watch movies with him? Teach him how to drive? Have a beer with him? Will I get to see him graduate from high school? From college? Get married? Why are we doing all of these things - painting his room, buying him clothes, diapers, toys, etc. - when he may never see his room, his crib, the beautiful painting on the wall above it, wear the Cool Little Shoes that we've bought him...? Why did we have a shower for a child that may not live for more than 2 or 3 days? The worst question of all, I can't even bring myself to type. I know these thoughts are not really my own, that I have not really entertained them at all, but there they are, in my head. Even though they do not control me, I would really like for them to go away.

I do not know why I (and Allison and Ayden) must face this, why God hasn't healed him, whether He eventually will, etc. That's a whole other post unto itself, which I hope to get to soon. For now, though, what I do know is that we are only getting through this by not letting those dark thoughts rule the day. (I'm grateful to God for that, too. Our friend Phil asked how non-believers can deal with something like this. I had no answer. Maybe they don't.) We would be unable to function if all we thought about was that there's a 40% chance Ayden will die before he's six months old. That cannot, and has not, been our focus. We have to do all of the things - the room painting, the showers, the Cool Little Shoes buying - that other expectant couples do. We have to prepare as if he will eventually sleep in his crib, play with his toys, wear his Cool Little Shoes. We have to. To do otherwise is a path to misery and folly.

I don't know what will happen. I am planning that he and I will get to do all of the things that a father and son get to do. I am preparing for that we won't. I am still getting used to the fact that I will be a father. I still pause briefly every time I use that term to describe myself. I fear that it's applicability to me will be fleeting.

It all seems so surreal, and yet so painfully real at the same time. So black, and yet so white.

I am clouded in grey. I am a duck on a pond.