Today I went to lunch with my sis-in-law. What a blessing it was to sit with her and my
adorable nephew!
Lately, when I get in the shower to get ready for a day
where I know I will be venturing into the big, wide world, I hear a song in my
head. It’s a country song, of course. I’m not sure what all the versus are, but
the chorus says, “this learning to live again is killing me.” I try not to
allow myself to think about it, but when I am putting mousse in my hair and
getting my makeup on, there it is…”this learning to live again is killing me.”
Today, when I started hearing it, I said outload, “I don’t
accept it!” My thoughts overloaded into all the reasons I am going to be fine.
All the reasons I can’t let that become my mantra.
As I sat with my sister and we were talking, I started
sharing about how I struggle to get out and about. I know it is necessary and normally, I am
Miss Social. But these days I find that getting ready means that I am going to
go out which also means I am going to see people which also means I may see
people I know that don’t know which means I may have to share our news. I
explained to her that as hard as it is for me to share this news, it is harder
for me to see their faces and know they will struggle with what to say. I feel bad
for them. (I know, this may all sound crazy, but this is my reality right now.)
Going out also means that I may have to speak to strangers and because I still
look pregnant, with all good intentions, they may strike up a conversation
asking the typical “pregnant questions” such as “is this your first?” etc. etc…
I don’t look forward to those awkward encounters and it isn’t
so much about me, but about others. Terry and I have spoken about how hard it
must be for folks. I mean, what do you say? We don’t know what we would say if
we had friends that had to bury their new born child. Equally, it is hard for
me because I have to fight with the fear of facing folks that know us, know our
story and look at me with eyes that feel sorry for me. Before we got pregnant,
I shared with my mom that one of the hardest things about being so open about
infertility is I always felt that people looked at me and all they could think
about when they saw me was how sorry they felt for me. I know with all my heart
that it wasn’t that they were being ugly, but it was always out of a genuine
heart of care and concern. Now, I feel I have a banner over me that reads, “Bereaved
Mother”. Now I feel sad that they will see me and feel even more sorry for me.
Both my mom and sister shared how it all comes out of a place of deep love for
us. I completely agree. It is still hard.
As I sat there and shared some of my thoughts with my
sister, I found the words I had been looking for regarding learning to live
again. I kept saying, “It’s just going to take time.” But in my talking about
how I feel ready to get back to work, I said, “I’m just waiting to hear my
cadence again.” There it is! I feel like my life’s cadence, the beat that made
me move each day, that motivated my pace and kept me above the fold is silent
right now. It may all be part of the grief process. I don’t know. But I feel
that once I can start hearing my life’s cadence, I can begin to really move.
I have dealt with grief and disappointment before. When I
miscarried the first, second, third, fourth and straight to the eighth time, I
dealt with grief; with the disappointment and my heart being broken. This time
is different tho. There was a nurse that I was speaking to in the hospital about
miscarriage. I told her, “Loss is loss and grief is still grief.” This, of
course, was before I knew we would have to say good-bye to our sweet daughter
so soon. Yes, I still believe loss is loss and grief is grief, but I do believe there is a different level
of loss and grief. This grief has overwhelmed me more than I have ever felt
before. Maybe its because when I close my eyes I can still picture her chubby
little hands or smell her. Maybe its because there are times that I still catch
myself holding my stomach as I did when I was pregnant every time I told her I
was “hugging” her. I don’t know.
But for now, tonight, I still wait to hear my cadence. I
know when I can begin to hear this again, it will be easier to move. I can’t
say move on because I am still dealing with things surrounding that. (more on
that in another scribe) But for now, I have to take the successes of getting
out, having a wonderful lunch with my sister and some great laughs with my
parents and accept this day as a victory of learning to live again.
I miss my sweet girl. And although life is not as I imagined
it would be for us, I am grateful for the wonderful family and friends around
us that are God’s goodness and grace manifested on this earth.
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