And so it is.
Just two days ago I finally spoke the most devastating words of my life, "Shane is dying."
I was surprised how easily that jagged phrase rolled off my tongue. And the very next moment I wanted to take it back, as if finally vocalizing that truth out loud might speed the process.
My heart breaks and mends a million times throughout each day---I fluctuate wildly between sobs and normalcy, even laughter. And I've asked God over and over again about the irony of life---as Jacob and I gain/regain strength and energy, Shane is waning and fading away.
My darling baby boy will never know my darling Shane. We'll share stories and pictures and do our best to make him part of daily life, but Jacob will never know the warmth of Shanes' arms, he'll never feel the tenderness of kisses laid upon his sweet smelling head. Shane will never hold him in the safety of his lap and read him stories, nor tuck him into bed with an "I love you." He'll never have Shane teach him to ski, or throw a ball, or how to treat his mother and sisters. All of the goodness that Shane has poured into our children these seventeen years will have to come from others.
I always said our first goal was to get Shane to December to meet Jacob, and he made it. But I never truly considered the possibility that his life would come to a close in the new year. Telling our children about Shane's impending death seemed impossible---those things always feel that way until they are done. Now we all know and acknowledge what we've known in our hearts for a few weeks, what I couldn't process and connect with, not while I was awaiting birth.
Shane has been the best of husbands and fathers, and it's because he is so kind, so good, and true that we will miss him so terribly, grieve him so deeply.