I've been feeling at peace lately...Since my husband and I were finally on the same page together, I decided to fill the remaining scripts of clomid and give them a chance. I felt like finally I had a balance... I was handling the emotions of this process - even those monthly negative tests - and finally coming to a peace about me never getting pregnant again. Oh sure, I would still have those days where it would hit me hard, and I would just break down. But that's more a couple of times a month, not every day like it was before.
Since we were finally really trying this time, with both parties on board, I felt like if it was meant to be OK then. But if it didn't happen, I wouldn't have any regrets about "what if ?" I would have done all I could.
So now all that's gone. I can't go back and wrack up more debt on let's face it, an almost useless chance that I can get pregnant again. I suppose I could take the remaining scripts un-monitored if I go every other month. I'd have to - we know I can over-stim easily. My kids just lost their grammy...they don't need to lose their mom too. But without a monthly trigger, it's probably useless. And while I have scripts for those too, I wouldn't know when to use them. That's another $100 a month anyway....
So I'm back to grieving with regrets....again.
I started dreaming about babies again. The worse is when I am forced to watch over and over as friends of mine have babies, and I can't. I hate those nights. I haven't slept well in weeks as it is.
So add on to all that, that I am missing my mom. I spent 45 minutes on the phone with my Dad yesterday, first answering his questions about thank you notes (yes to people who sent donations, flowers or food, yes to people who bought masses to be said in mom's names, no to people who just sent sympathy cards unless they are family out of state who would like one of her prayer cards). Then reminiscing guiltily once again, did we make the right decisions, could we have done anything differently and of course, it still doesn't seem real.
This past weekend marked her month's passing. I went over to my Dad's Friday night both to visit and also because he had more stuff for me to go through. Since we had two cars, Rob took the kids home earlier and I stayed just to have some time with my dad. We haven't been this close since I left home when I was 18. Something happened then and it was never the same. Now it's like a trip back in time the way we talk.
As I was driving home that night, tired, emotionally drained, the roads dark, I had a sense of deja vu....and then it hit me. Exactly one month ago, on another Friday night, I was in the same situation. Driving home alone from the hospital late at night. My mom had just died.
I can't tell you how much I miss her. And I hate that both Josh and Katelyn commented to me about me being sad yesterday.
Anyway, one of the things we were going through at the house were all the shelves in her kitchen. She was somewhat of what I call a "hidden hoarder." Not like those people on tv, their house was always neat. But she saved everything! She had all kinds of stuff hidden away in drawers and shelves in baskets, envelopes etc.
In going through those books we again talked about recipes and things we've always had for the last 40 years. I share a recent experience with my dad.
In browsing Pinterest, I came across a recipe for what they called " broken ice."
I was immediately brought back to my past. Mom made something similar, only she called it cracked ice. The recipe was similar, only she didn't use condensed milk, she used whipped cream with the knox gelatin. But I can clearly remember the pans of jello in the fridge in the days leading up to Christmas eve. It was always there on Christmas Eve, a tradition, although in reality, I think me and mom were really the only ones who truly liked it. I was the only one who liked the graham cracker crust, Mom just preferred to serve it in a clear glass pedestal bowl (which we found on her kitchen shelves to my relief)
Another unique and now I realize, cherished memory is pasta. Not off the shelf of the supermarket spaghetti, but home made. Mom used to make home made pasta. She'd roll out the dough in a flat sheet, roll it up and then make thin slices, like a cinnamon roll, but much thinner (think a 1/4 in) and just pasta dough. Then she'd un-roll all the slices and lay them out on all our beds (which had been covered with clean sheets on top) to dry. While I'm sure it would seem odd to most adults to walk into a bedroom and see pasta drying on the beds, if I were to see it today, it would simply bring a fond smile to my face.
It was never the same once she got a hand crank pasta maker. I missed the old fashioned way she made it. Mom always swore that each pasta tasted different. I believe she was right.
Isn't it interesting how so many family and holiday memories are tied to food? What is it about it that ties us together? Maybe because it is so much like families. Each recipe, like a family has unique ingredients (or family member) that serve specific purposes, contributes flavor or variety. Without any one ingredient , the dish is simply not the same.
In some cases, you can maybe add a little extra to make up the difference, say an extra egg when running short on baking powder, or a little extra garlic when salt in omitted. Just like families. When I am sick, Rob takes up the slack and does a little more. Will it taste the same? No, but it's enough to get by . So it is with families. We lose people we love sometimes temporarily or sometimes forever. The family is not the same, but that does not mean it can't be good.
Our new family is still good, and I love it. But with missing such a key ingredient, it will never be the same again.
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