Defining Moments

Chapter One - Loss

Madison's POV:

Most people would say that they really, truly, have one moment that defines their life. I can think of four, right off the top of my head. The day my son was born, almost eight years ago. The day my husband died, just a short year ago. The day my daughter was born, just three months after my husband passed. And the time I found love again, but we'll get to that.

I had gotten pregnant with my son Quinn when I was just seventeen years old. I was young, dumb, and in love. Four years after Quinn was born, Quinn's father, Gabriel, and I decided to get married. There was no fancy proposal, no fancy wedding. Just the two of us making the decision and then taking two people as witnesses to the courthouse along with Quinn.

Things were going good for the two of us. I had just settled into a career as a nurse, Gabriel always loved working on cars so he had started his own mechanics business, Quinn was starting Kindergarten in the fall. Everything just felt so right. I decided to add a little spice to the mix and told Gabriel I wanted to start trying for another baby.

I'll admit, he was a little apprehensive about the thought of another baby. We really struggled when Quinn was born. I mean, yeah, we had stable jobs now, we were adults, and we were in a place where we could have a baby. Or so I thought. I eventually convinced Gabriel to start trying again, and we did. We really struggled with infertility this time around. Gabriel wanted to take it as a sign from God that we weren't ready to have another kid after I had miscarriage after miscarriage for three and a half years.

What we didn't expect a month after giving up, was a positive pregnancy test. I thought I had been late just because my hormones were all over the place from the miscarriages and fertility treatments. We weren't intentionally trying anymore either. But, I had this feeling in my gut that I needed to take a pregnancy test. That feeling in my gut ended up being my daughter, Macyn.

Five months into my pregnancy, Gabriel brought our financial issues to light. Turned out, he liked to gamble more than we could afford, when he went to poker night with his friends. He owed a lot of money and we were about to go into serious debt. Between all the upcoming hospital bills, paying rent on Gabriel's garage in New York City, and all of Quinn's school expenses and general baby expenses, Gabriel just couldn't take the pressure. We had even moved into the apartment space above his garage to save some money.

Gabriel often got up earlier than I did to get started on work, so I thought nothing of it when he wasn't in bed when I woke up. I got Quinn up and as he got ready for school, I made breakfast. While Quinn sat at the table eating, I decided to take some down to Gabe. As I walked downstairs to the shop, I had another feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something just wasn't right.

I was so scared that the baby wasn't okay, that I didn't notice my husband lying unconscious in front of his work desk, with an empty pill bottle that once contained pain meds from a procedure he had months ago. I was frozen in shock, until I heard Quinn upstairs saying he was ready for the bus.

I quickly rushed back upstairs and ushered Quinn into his room, telling him he wasn't going to school that day. After that I grabbed my cell phone and called 9-1-1 while kneeling at Gabe's side. Shortly later, paramedics and a police officer arrived. While the police officer took my statement, the paramedics worked on Gabe. But it was too late. No goodbye. No note. No nothing. He was just gone.

The last three months of my pregnancy were a blur, from having to plan the funeral of my husband, to preparing for a baby I was now nowhere near prepared for. I had to sell Gabe's garage in order to pay off his debts and ended up moving back to my hometown of Catskill, New York, to live with my fathers. They were willing to help me with financial troubles as well as help me raise an eight year old and a brand new baby.

When Macyn was born, I had no idea what I was going to do. I struggled so much with my husband's death that I had slipped into a post partum depression after my daughter's birth. I thought having a baby when I was just a teenager was hard. It was so much harder doing it with an eight year old, and having to do it on my own. This had gone on for so long, my dads had to force me to even name my daughter. I could hardly look at her, she looked so much like Gabe. She inherited his olive skin, dark hair, and chocolate brown eyes.

I felt alone in the world. A widowed, single mother of two. I felt inadequate. If I was a better wife, would Gabe still be here? If we hadn't rushed into things when we were teenagers, would he still be here? If I got up sooner that day, could I have saved him? All these what-ifs but I knew one thing for certain. I had to figure out how to be a good mother to my kids because they needed me more than anything. Gabriel may not be here anymore, but they certainly were.