I have shared responses to this journey from two of my children. Today my oldest child, Andrew, adds his comments. He was 9 when Allison died.
I remember coming home in the car with Dad and he was very quiet. Then when we sat together and he told us that Allison had died, I felt sad. My only experience of death up to that point was that it happened to old people, like Grandmother (his great grandmother) and Aunt Ruby (a great aunt). I remember processing this new bit of information, that death could happen even to babies, and thinking—okay, so death is just part of the process. Like walking in the woods and getting scraped on the branches. I think it made me willing to take risks, not be afraid of the scrapes. Heather and I have had multiple miscarriages, both before our first born and between our five children. If we had not been afraid to take the risk of trying again, we would have lost the joy that Joshua, Anna, David, Joseph, and Samuel give us every day.
By the fall of 1986, I was ready to risk again. At least I thought I was. By the end of September, I was pregnant. And with that development, I embraced another side of this journey—fear.