All The Things That Didn't

Why is it so hard to fully experience the relief of it all?

Instead of grief and anxiety I have beauty and joy. I didn't vomit. I didn't swell up. I didn't pass out. I didn't panic. I didn't reject her. I didn't drop her. I didn't fall. I didn't convulse. I didn't have shaking hands the first time I drove with her. I didn't feel nothing. I didn't cry until they had to take me and put me away and bind my arms and inject me with thorazine. (Is this what I really thought might happen? yes.)

There's grace in this and I feel daily gratitude. But not with the knife of trepidation.

All the things that didn't happen as I feared should be buried like a fairy tale villain - the jealous stepmother or black bearded husband with a raping intent - whose slain blood and body regenerate the earth for the heroine. Compost for the rallying soul. I survived. I can feel the ground again as I stretch my arms, holding this baby in strong arms, and reach toward the light.