Well, this is gonna hurt even worse after the end of Gold and Purple Years, but that's all the more reason to post it now.
Another:
Exhausted from a twelve hour shift at the hospital, Sarah let Joseph do Steve's fourth treatment of the day and put him to bed. He'd been on "sick plan" for only a week to attempt to clear a junky cough that had begun last month and all three Rogers were already drained. Though before Joseph tucked him in, Steve insisted on peeking his head in to say goodnight to her. About forty minutes later, Joseph quietly stepped back in and curled up next to her. It was far too early for them to consider turning in for the night, but Sarah scooted closer and let her head rest on his chest. She felt him sigh beneath her.
"Something on your mind?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"Spill it then."
"Steve told me—and I'm quoting this directly to the best of my memory ability—he said, 'You know, Daddy, I don't mind so much being sick because extra treatments means I get to spend more time with you.'"
Sarah's heart melted. She could so easily picture those words coming out of her four-year-old son's mouth. It made her want to rush into his room right this very moment to hug him, despite knowing that would undo the entire bedtime routine her husband had just completed. "That's precious," she said.
"I know." Joseph sighed again, and Sarah sensed he wanted to segway into a more difficult conversation. "We really made a great kid together, huh?"
Sarah knew where this conversation was headed, and she readjusted her position in the bed so she could look her husband in the eye. "Joseph…" she warned, but he clearly wasn't listening.
"I think we could make another great kid. Sarah, I think we should."
She could see in his eyes how desperately he wanted this, just one of many reasons it hurt her to say what she was about to say. "You know how many times we had to try before we got Steve, and even then…"
"Even then what?"
"We both know what I'm talking about. You're really gonna make me say it?"
"So what? Steve doesn't let it stop him, so why should it stop us?"
"Our son has a chronic, terminal illness," she said bluntly. "And we don't talk about that enough."
"Don't talk about it enough? Sarah, not a day goes by that we don't have a CF-related conversation."
"We talk about the logistics. Scheduling clinic visits, cleaning nebulizer pieces, arguing with insurance, refilling prescriptions. Of course we talk about that. But I don't think we've ever really had a conversation about what this means for his future."
"Maybe I don't want to talk about that part," he said sadly. He broke off their eye contact and let his gaze drift to the wall behind her.
"I know you don't. I don't either. But if we seriously consider having another kid, then I think we have to. I don't think I would survive another miscarriage, mentally. But I also don't want to run the risk of bringing another sick child into this world."
Joseph met her eye once again, his own blue irises now shining. "So what if they're sick? We still love Steve in spite of that."
"Of course we love him!" Sarah snapped, hoping her raised voice hadn't woken Steve. She paused, listening for any sign of movement from his room through their shared wall, but fortunately heard nothing. "I love him more than life itself, but his life will be shortened. Unless—by the grace of God—I go first, I'm going to outlive him. A mother isn't supposed to outlive her son. And I know it's going to shatter me. I will not put myself in a position to be shattered twice, Joseph, I just can't do it." She was crying in earnest now, Joseph pulling her close and cradling her head against his shoulder.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm sorry I brought it up. I will never put you in that position."
"Thank you," she muttered. When they got married, they'd both dreamed about starting a family. As a little girl, Sarah had pictured her life as a mother and those visions usually included multiple children. She grew up as an only child longing for siblings to play with, and she hadn't wanted her own child to share that loneliness. If she could guarantee that they'd be successful in producing a healthy child, she might consider it, but considering their track record it was impossible to be sure. And besides, they would still be saddling that child with the inevitable grief of losing their big brother. Sarah didn't want to do that, and she knew deep down that Joseph didn't either.
"I love our family just the way it is," Joseph said.
"Me too."
