I have a ton of things to do today, really, I am swamped. It's kind of crazy
I am suppose to leave for a women's retreat in less than three hours, I have two loads of laundry to do, I need to cook meatballs for an early dinner, to clean the house(kitchen, bathroom family room etc) before my MIL comes to babysit tomorrow and I needed to run an errand that takes me almost an hour round trip. Oh, and I need to pack for the afore mentioned retreat and get the kids to the babysitting co-op by 6:00 in rush hour traffic.
So I'm in the car running my errand, N. whining a bit in the background about how he really wants ice cream, and my dad calls on my cell. Can I come over to sit with my mom for a few hours? Today? My breath just kind of catches - my dad almost NEVER asks me for help. How bad was it this time? Did something happen? He's asking for help, it must be really bad. Are we going back into the hospital for the 3rd time in 5 weeks time?
I don't have time, it's the worse timing and it's just one more thing to add on to my very stressful life. But I hesitate for about a half second, rearrange my schedule in my head and say, "Of course."
And really, I'm happy to do it. Maybe not happy, per se, but relieved that in this un-winnable situation my parents find themselves in, I can in some way help. Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things if my MIL sees my house messy....again? Or that I don't go to a retreat I was anxious about attending in the first place? It seems silly when faced with the chance to have compassion for someone else.
But wait, haven't I written adnauseum about how I am angry at my mom for what she has done (or rather hasn't done) to her body? to our family? How I've emotionally removed myself from her? Yes, I wrote many times about that.
I mean, it seems she is always getting worse. Every time this happens, I ask myself how it is that continually manages to hold on yet again. I've had more than one Christmas where I have thought "this is the last one." I've said goodbye in my heart over andover again. It's really no wonder I've removed myself emotionally.... how many times can you prepare yourself for the worse only to start over again (hmmm, where have I heard that theme before?)
But one night a few weeks ago, as I sat with her in the hospital (she won't allow anyone but me or my dad to sit with her), I came to some realizations. I was holding her hand and telling her it was OK to cry, that it was a good way to let the stress and sadness leave your body. This was something I knew all too well
Somewhere in that process, the child became the parent and the parent became the child and I found not only forgiveness in my heart, but compassion as well. And something changed in me. Maybe it's because I am so emotionally vulnerable (weak?) right now. Maybe because this time it really could be the end, maybe it's because I'm getting older, my kids are getting older or it's a chance to do some good in what is becoming a bleaker and bleaker world for me.
But I think the main reason is because I realized my mom *got* me. Back up a sec here... I've always regretted not having a close relationship with her. I wanted one, but I didn't seem to be the kind of person she needed me to be, and she wasn't the person I needed her to be. t resented her for that. For not being there when I needed her. The thing is, in the grand scheme of things, I survived. So I didn't have a shopping buddy, or a grandmother who could buddy around with my kids. But in the end I got something so much more important.
In the quiet of those nights at the hospital, despite the terrible physical pain she was in, she asked me how the last IUI went. It's so raw and festering right now, I couldn't help but tear up and confess I just couldn't manage to get pregnant, and how I couldn't' get away from the desire much as I wanted to. I don't know why, because she's never gotten me before, but this she seemed to get. With few words expressed between us, she seemed to sense the depth of my pain and she not only understood it, she validated it and she mourned with me. We just sat there, the two us and for the first time in many years, understanding each other, and I felt at peace with my mom.
I could feel the forgiveness wash over me like a waterfall, and a part of me felt like a weight had been lifted.
It totally sucks to be in the position she's in, and there is nothing she can do to change it. She has to sit there and let the various diseases take her body, her dignity, her life, inch by inch. Will she ever realize her own role in that process, I don't know, but what's done is done. Did I have a right to be angry? Maybe. But I've learned that you can't explain feelings away, or sort them into bins....these feelings are OK to have, these feelings are not OK to have, these feelings, I shouldn't be feeling, these feelings are justified etc etc etc
You feel what you feel. And despite what I thought, forgiveness is always possible, even when you think it will never happen.
So I am going to make the meatballs so my family can eat tonight, and hopefully clean my kitchen, then head over to my moms to sit with her. The retreat can wait. The laundry can wait, and my MIL can see my messy family room and bathroom.
I'm going to go sit with my mom.
Friday 27 January 2012
Wednesday 25 January 2012
Stuff/Hope....same thing
Today might possibly be the worst day of my life.
We've decided it's time to move. To make it short and simple, we need to get into a different school district, one that actually takes allergies seriously (see this story, while not our school district in the story, it might as well be), and we need to be closer to a hospital as another precaution to keep N. safe.
But if we are going to sell this house, we need to clear the clutter and we are out of storage space. Why no space? Because it's been too painful to let go of my baby gear and hand me downs. Rob' had wanted to give it to my SIL, but I couldn't and I know he thinks I am nuts or at the very least one of those hoarder people. But I couldn't find a way to explain it to him. How could I explain that I wouldn't see little M. getting use out of those things, I would see the presence of absence....I would see what I didn't have. I know, it's a lousy excuse to be selfish, but there it is.
But the time has come when I can't hold onto it any longer. We need to do this to keep N. safe. So away goes the high chair, away goes the baby bath, away goes the grocery cart cover, baby carrier and so much more I can't bear to think of. As I sorted though each article of clothing deciding what would go to charity and what could be so sold, I felt like I was sorting through both pieces of memories and lost dreams.
I fingered the pink sleepers - they were so soft! Some never even used, because K., my adopted little one came to us 6 months later than she was expected. She couldn't' very well wear fleece in July. I remember tucking them away, knowing I was meant to have more children, maybe another girl.
And the boys clothes -such memories! Now they had two little boys that had worn these precious things, and hard! They played, slept, rolled in the mud and sand, played in the sink and went down many a slide in all those things. But they still had so much life left in them! Surely I could keep them for just one more child?
I loaded the first load into the van with a heavy heart. My legs felt like lead and my heart was in my throat. Even now as I write this, the things gone a receipt in my van, my whole body feels kind of numb, like it's trying to protect itself from any more possible pain,
They thanked me at the charity for my donation, like I was a good person or something for doing this, like I wanted to be there. I avoided watching them loading onto the waiting truck. I couldn't bare it. It seems they asked me at least three times, "It's all children's stuff, right?"
OMG. Why does this have to be so hard? In the spanse of few seconds I think, yes, these are children's things, things I will never get to use again. Things I don't want to give you, but I have no choice. Unlike other women, I can't just choose to have another child. Only a miracle can give me a child, and it seems I am fresh out. Don't thank me, I don't want to give you these things.
But I don't say that. I just say, yes, it's all children's things. I can't help but glance in the truck as the conversation goes on. They ask me again, it's all children's stuff, right? Each time I repeat back my answer calmly and politely, even though all I want to do is climb on that truck, grab my stuff back and peel out of the drive like a scene from a bad movie.
I always say, stuff is just stuff, it's not what's important in life. And I truly believe it. But in this case, it's different. Each piece taken away represented my hope and belief that life can be good. With each piece I give away, another piece of my hope dies, and takes with it a part of my heart, a part of my joy.
With each month that goes by, I wonder why we are here on this cruddy earth, when it's filled with so much pain? What's the point? It's harder and harder to take comfort in my children because I think, what kind of pain will they face? Will they go through this same nightmare, or something worse? I don't want to know, because I simply can't take anymore heart break.
So I tell my children life isn't fair, and no one promised it would be. But somewhere along the line, I guess I thought there were certain promises in life. I was a fool, and now I am paying the price for having that hope.
I recently saw on Facebook one of those graphics that's so popular right now... You know, everyone is posting some picture wrought with deep meaning, political statements or silly jokes. This one simple said "HOPE" Hang On, Pain Ends.
Yeah right... Hope simply garnishes more pain. It should really say, Hold on, Pain Endures. And so it will for me over the next few weeks as I battle my heart with my mind. I will have to force myself to let go of these things I hold dear, to give them away to strangers, to let the last of my hope drift away, un-noticed by anyone but me.
I turn 43 in 9 days, the year has past, and I have nothing but more lost pregnancies to show for it. And if life isn't hard enough, I started spotting today too. I'm telling ya, Someone somewhere must really hate me.
We've decided it's time to move. To make it short and simple, we need to get into a different school district, one that actually takes allergies seriously (see this story, while not our school district in the story, it might as well be), and we need to be closer to a hospital as another precaution to keep N. safe.
But if we are going to sell this house, we need to clear the clutter and we are out of storage space. Why no space? Because it's been too painful to let go of my baby gear and hand me downs. Rob' had wanted to give it to my SIL, but I couldn't and I know he thinks I am nuts or at the very least one of those hoarder people. But I couldn't find a way to explain it to him. How could I explain that I wouldn't see little M. getting use out of those things, I would see the presence of absence....I would see what I didn't have. I know, it's a lousy excuse to be selfish, but there it is.
But the time has come when I can't hold onto it any longer. We need to do this to keep N. safe. So away goes the high chair, away goes the baby bath, away goes the grocery cart cover, baby carrier and so much more I can't bear to think of. As I sorted though each article of clothing deciding what would go to charity and what could be so sold, I felt like I was sorting through both pieces of memories and lost dreams.
I fingered the pink sleepers - they were so soft! Some never even used, because K., my adopted little one came to us 6 months later than she was expected. She couldn't' very well wear fleece in July. I remember tucking them away, knowing I was meant to have more children, maybe another girl.
And the boys clothes -such memories! Now they had two little boys that had worn these precious things, and hard! They played, slept, rolled in the mud and sand, played in the sink and went down many a slide in all those things. But they still had so much life left in them! Surely I could keep them for just one more child?
I loaded the first load into the van with a heavy heart. My legs felt like lead and my heart was in my throat. Even now as I write this, the things gone a receipt in my van, my whole body feels kind of numb, like it's trying to protect itself from any more possible pain,
They thanked me at the charity for my donation, like I was a good person or something for doing this, like I wanted to be there. I avoided watching them loading onto the waiting truck. I couldn't bare it. It seems they asked me at least three times, "It's all children's stuff, right?"
OMG. Why does this have to be so hard? In the spanse of few seconds I think, yes, these are children's things, things I will never get to use again. Things I don't want to give you, but I have no choice. Unlike other women, I can't just choose to have another child. Only a miracle can give me a child, and it seems I am fresh out. Don't thank me, I don't want to give you these things.
But I don't say that. I just say, yes, it's all children's things. I can't help but glance in the truck as the conversation goes on. They ask me again, it's all children's stuff, right? Each time I repeat back my answer calmly and politely, even though all I want to do is climb on that truck, grab my stuff back and peel out of the drive like a scene from a bad movie.
I always say, stuff is just stuff, it's not what's important in life. And I truly believe it. But in this case, it's different. Each piece taken away represented my hope and belief that life can be good. With each piece I give away, another piece of my hope dies, and takes with it a part of my heart, a part of my joy.
With each month that goes by, I wonder why we are here on this cruddy earth, when it's filled with so much pain? What's the point? It's harder and harder to take comfort in my children because I think, what kind of pain will they face? Will they go through this same nightmare, or something worse? I don't want to know, because I simply can't take anymore heart break.
So I tell my children life isn't fair, and no one promised it would be. But somewhere along the line, I guess I thought there were certain promises in life. I was a fool, and now I am paying the price for having that hope.
I recently saw on Facebook one of those graphics that's so popular right now... You know, everyone is posting some picture wrought with deep meaning, political statements or silly jokes. This one simple said "HOPE" Hang On, Pain Ends.
Yeah right... Hope simply garnishes more pain. It should really say, Hold on, Pain Endures. And so it will for me over the next few weeks as I battle my heart with my mind. I will have to force myself to let go of these things I hold dear, to give them away to strangers, to let the last of my hope drift away, un-noticed by anyone but me.
I turn 43 in 9 days, the year has past, and I have nothing but more lost pregnancies to show for it. And if life isn't hard enough, I started spotting today too. I'm telling ya, Someone somewhere must really hate me.
Friday 6 January 2012
Confused Emotions
I haven't written in a while, because I've been confused about my emotions.
I expected it to get easier....I've been waiting for that old adage, "time heals all wounds" to kick in. Yet it hasn't. I find life getting more difficult and the sadness just presses in on me.
I used to be involved in soulcysters or boards like it. I would take comfort from those on the same path, and rejoice in their successes, waiting, sometimes patiently, sometimes not, for my own.
But it's different this time. I find regular interaction with other infertiles to be too difficult. Instead of rejoicing in their pregnancy announcements, I get sad or jealous. I can't be around pregnant women or babies without the reality of my own circumstances tugging at my emotions. I still dream at night about babies, either losing them or them being taken away, and now a new one, watching only other women have them.
At the heart of it all is how to get through it. I don't want to simply exist in this sadness, I want to find a way to come to peace. That's where the confused emotions come into play. Many many years ago I became " saved", a born again Christian, a believer...pick your term. In the simplest explanation, it means I formed a personal relationship with God made possible by the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross.
I came to that state after my divorce as a young woman. That relationship saved me not just my eternal soul, but who I was. It made me a better person, it gave me compassion, comfort and simple joy in the knowledge I was loved, I had value simply because I was God's.
Since then, I've always turned to God when I was lost. I turned to him when I was so lonely before I met Rob, I turned to him when I had my first pregnancy loss and those following, when the adoption looked so bleak and so many other times in my life. I always accepted that God had a plan for me, and though I may not understand it, it had purpose, meaning... At our wedding, I had the vocalist sing about how God causes all things to come to gather for our good. It meant something to me. I had learned that while life was sometimes rough, there was a greater purpose at work. I thought God knew best and simply accepted it for what it was.
As this terrible year, the worst of my life has progressed, I've gotten progressively angrier. Why was He doing this to me? Intellectually, I knew God wasn't doing anything, that's just the fallen world we live in. But in my heart I felt like it was being done *to* me. Why let me get pregnant if I wasn't going to be able to keep it? Why not protect me from that? Especially after coming to peace that I wouldn't get pregnant again. It seemed so cruel to me.
But most of all, why make me this way, so very broken, both in body and mind? The more broken my body becomes, the more my mind and spirit seem to break. I feel so very fragile now, like it would take so very little to just shatter what's left of me.
In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I felt some peace. It's impossible not to think of God and be drawn to him with so many messages sent your way, the constant reminder of the birth of Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us. Surely God would be with me again? But about a week before Christmas it came to me. God has abandoned me. My broken body surely can't be worth his attention. Perhaps he made me like this because I simply didn't deserve better? I remember the moment... God must not only not love me, He must hate me... Why else would I be suffering this way? I couldn't' wait for Christmas to be over so I didn't have to think about it. It hurt too much.
I feel like a hypocrite going to church now, playing on the worship band. But I'm too embarrassed to back out. How do you explain that God has abandoned you? And surely he still loves my kids? They need God. I can't possibly take that from them.
So I continue to be at a crossroads, not sure how to heal myself, where to go. I've always prayed in the past. I know that God doesn't always answer our prayers the way we want. But I don't know what to do when He is completely silent. I feel like I've tried to be fair, I've prayed to either get pregnant or that the desire be removed from my heart. Surely, I was being open to God's will? But that wasn't good enough for Him, and so I am faced with this alone.
I try to find comfort where I can. My husband has turned over a new leaf, willing to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on. His compassion gives me strength. But I hate to burden him too much. Whiny people annoy me, I can only imagine how bad I have been and continue to be. (It's one of the reasons I don't write here more.) Having a little son who needs me so much helps too. He gives the best hugs. When his little arms wrap around me, I feel alive again and the pain is gone if just for an instant.
I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, hoping, but no longer praying, that the adage has some basis. Please time, do your thing, and soon?
I expected it to get easier....I've been waiting for that old adage, "time heals all wounds" to kick in. Yet it hasn't. I find life getting more difficult and the sadness just presses in on me.
I used to be involved in soulcysters or boards like it. I would take comfort from those on the same path, and rejoice in their successes, waiting, sometimes patiently, sometimes not, for my own.
But it's different this time. I find regular interaction with other infertiles to be too difficult. Instead of rejoicing in their pregnancy announcements, I get sad or jealous. I can't be around pregnant women or babies without the reality of my own circumstances tugging at my emotions. I still dream at night about babies, either losing them or them being taken away, and now a new one, watching only other women have them.
At the heart of it all is how to get through it. I don't want to simply exist in this sadness, I want to find a way to come to peace. That's where the confused emotions come into play. Many many years ago I became " saved", a born again Christian, a believer...pick your term. In the simplest explanation, it means I formed a personal relationship with God made possible by the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross.
I came to that state after my divorce as a young woman. That relationship saved me not just my eternal soul, but who I was. It made me a better person, it gave me compassion, comfort and simple joy in the knowledge I was loved, I had value simply because I was God's.
Since then, I've always turned to God when I was lost. I turned to him when I was so lonely before I met Rob, I turned to him when I had my first pregnancy loss and those following, when the adoption looked so bleak and so many other times in my life. I always accepted that God had a plan for me, and though I may not understand it, it had purpose, meaning... At our wedding, I had the vocalist sing about how God causes all things to come to gather for our good. It meant something to me. I had learned that while life was sometimes rough, there was a greater purpose at work. I thought God knew best and simply accepted it for what it was.
As this terrible year, the worst of my life has progressed, I've gotten progressively angrier. Why was He doing this to me? Intellectually, I knew God wasn't doing anything, that's just the fallen world we live in. But in my heart I felt like it was being done *to* me. Why let me get pregnant if I wasn't going to be able to keep it? Why not protect me from that? Especially after coming to peace that I wouldn't get pregnant again. It seemed so cruel to me.
But most of all, why make me this way, so very broken, both in body and mind? The more broken my body becomes, the more my mind and spirit seem to break. I feel so very fragile now, like it would take so very little to just shatter what's left of me.
In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I felt some peace. It's impossible not to think of God and be drawn to him with so many messages sent your way, the constant reminder of the birth of Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us. Surely God would be with me again? But about a week before Christmas it came to me. God has abandoned me. My broken body surely can't be worth his attention. Perhaps he made me like this because I simply didn't deserve better? I remember the moment... God must not only not love me, He must hate me... Why else would I be suffering this way? I couldn't' wait for Christmas to be over so I didn't have to think about it. It hurt too much.
I feel like a hypocrite going to church now, playing on the worship band. But I'm too embarrassed to back out. How do you explain that God has abandoned you? And surely he still loves my kids? They need God. I can't possibly take that from them.
So I continue to be at a crossroads, not sure how to heal myself, where to go. I've always prayed in the past. I know that God doesn't always answer our prayers the way we want. But I don't know what to do when He is completely silent. I feel like I've tried to be fair, I've prayed to either get pregnant or that the desire be removed from my heart. Surely, I was being open to God's will? But that wasn't good enough for Him, and so I am faced with this alone.
I try to find comfort where I can. My husband has turned over a new leaf, willing to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on. His compassion gives me strength. But I hate to burden him too much. Whiny people annoy me, I can only imagine how bad I have been and continue to be. (It's one of the reasons I don't write here more.) Having a little son who needs me so much helps too. He gives the best hugs. When his little arms wrap around me, I feel alive again and the pain is gone if just for an instant.
I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, hoping, but no longer praying, that the adage has some basis. Please time, do your thing, and soon?
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