As things leveled out and I began to feel better, I got a call at work from my Dad. That's never a good sign. And when you have a grandmother whom you adore who is 94 years young, anytime you receive a call from Dad, you jump to the conclusion that Grandma is not okay. Well, I was lucky this time that Grandma was okay, but my Uncle John was not. He had had a heart attack while driving (I believe) and gotten into a single car accident with a tree. He did not survive. He was my Dad's brother. It was quite traumatic. I remember the phone ringing, I was co-teaching a class, so I took the call. I went into the AP office and hid in a closet and cried. My principal sent me home. The next few days are fuzzy. That was February 3.
(My Uncle John is in red.)
My Grandmother's health deteriorated quickly after the funeral. Everyone had commented how stoic and strong she had been at the funeral. I think at 94, you probably don't anticipate burying one of your children. We later found out that Grandma had had two small strokes around the time of my Uncle's death. She left living with my Aunt Mary to be put into a nursing home. Sadly, she never returned to Aunt Mary's house - she passed away on April 2. I had actually taken that day off to drive home to see her. David had the day off already, so Elliot and I took that day off, packed everyone up a day early and went home to see Grandma. On the way home, Dad called again to say that Grandma hadn't made it. It's probably a good thing, as everyone said how different she was in the nursing home, and I have beautiful memories of her smile and laughter, which I would not have seen there.
(My beautiful Grandma, Virginia Anne Murray Amrine, at my cousin Allison's wedding.)
I was devastated. Even as I type this, I still am. How, just under two months from my uncle's death, could my beautiful grandmother pass away? My grandma had told me before that she wanted me to have more children. She often told me that she thought David and I were doing a terrific job with our girls. That weekend, not necessarily according to our plan, but definitely according to hers, David and I got pregnant. April 3, in fact. I only put the date because our beautiful boy came to us exactly 5 months later on September 3. The sonogram confirmed that his conception was April 3, and his due date? Christmas Day. If Lincoln was not a gift from my Grandmother...I simply cannot see it as coincidence.
I honestly did not even recognize that I was pregnant for weeks. We had tried to get pregnant with the twins for 25 months. There was no way that one single isolated time without protection could have gotten us pregnant after that ordeal. It was not on my radar. I was still on my anxiety medication until I realized. I was about ten days late when I realized that I may be pregnant. I had a pregnancy test left over from the twins' days in my bathroom closet. There was no wait necessary, that line turned blue immediately. True to our fashion, I went out and got an ice cream cake. I was pretty dumbfounded. Shock is a good word.
The cake this time, instead of saying, "Congratulations, Daddy!" as it had the two previous times, said 3+1 or 4? Meaning 3 girls + 1 boy or 4 girls? As soon as David saw the Carvel box, he said, "ARE YOU PREGNANT?" He was thrilled. We had debated whether or not we would try for another baby. The debate was over. I was super emotional, hormonal, and the anxiety and depression was really feeling out of control. We eventually told our parents, and I thanked my Grandmother over and over.
