Originally Posted by BlueCarGal

Initially, I'm afraid it was hardest on everyone around me. I just bundled up my anger at her death with the larger boulder of furious I swung in every direction after Marty died.

He had promised he'd get a leave & be with me for Rachel's birth--I was so scared at the thought of popping out a baby from my tiny birth canal! Terrified of being a mother. But Marty had completed two rotations & the Vietnam war wasn't the insanity of what we're in now with people going back 6, 7, 8 times--even more. Marty could go back, but he would have to volunteer. I knew he would, but not until Rachel was here & we were okay & had a few days at least as a family.

Then in August he told me he was going back, said he " had to." I thought it was his mom, & I'm sure she was pushing him--she was devastated when he failed the vision test for pilot training. She wanted a war hero! I quit writing to him after telling him that if anything went wrong, it would be his fault. Wow, what a lovely thing for a wife to write.

He went missing Christmas eve, Rachel was born early a few weeks later, & she died late summer that year. I blamed Marty. Hated him & the world for years after. Had no friends, held everyobe at a distance.

Didn't start healing for a decade.

I was reading something by C. S. Lewis about then, & I guess I was ready to let thego & listen to wise elders, work on living again: "If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."

I took the risk, some hurt, i healed--it took another decade.