Good Intentions

Easter came early this year.  But in leading up to Lent, I was researching churches in my area to figure out which one I'd like to call my spiritual home.  Bummer that I could not find any with a Sunday evening mass, as I am a fan of sleeping in on the weekends.  It is also seems like a good way to end the day at the start of the week.  It takes a little bit of that Sunday dread away, a remnant from my life from teaching (Yes, teachers can have that same sinking feeling as students as the weekend comes to an end and early Monday morning is waiting.).  I scoured the Internet and FB to glean the vibe of the church and if I would fit into its community.  Then I saved the mass schedules and addresses of the churches on the short list.  My plan was to try them out.  T~ has been supportive in saying that he will attend with me, despite us having different faiths.

Just before Lent was kicking into gear, we got up one Sunday morning and went to church.  The building was a bit more modern for my taste and the priest seemed a little full of himself and a little showy.  However, I liked the vibe of the people who attended the church.  They seemed friendly and kind and it had a welcoming family feel.

But at a second glance, I realized just how many families were present and it felt like a really high ratio.  Granted this was a mass that offered Sunday school, but it still felt like a lot.  I started to feel uncomfortable and sad.  It made me realize how differently I had once imagined my life.  I pictured it with children, which would include taking them to church.  Surrounded by children and families made my heart ache.  Yes, maybe T~ and I may one day have a child.  But, it will likely be one...maybe, maybe two.  But it will not be the brood I had once imagined.  It will not be the same.

And I felt that twinge of one day having a large family die.

How I longed for a simple life and not one with all of these complications postponing these dreams of a family of my own.  How so many take it for granted that it all seems to fall into place.  Why has it worked for them and not for me?  How very far away it all feels to me as more and more people my age have finished building their families.  They are in the thick of it, the exhausting thick of it, and I feel like I am missing out.  I continue to be the outsider looking in and missing the dream that will never be.

I feel small for having these feelings.  I am tired of the heartache.  I am over the reminders of what I don't have.  It is especially difficult when I am trying so hard to be strong, to be grateful and to dream new dreams.

So, unfortunately, I have not returned to church.  I have avoided it.  It is hard to be in a place to renew your soul while it is being crushed.  I feel guilty.  I have to stop feeling sorry for myself, refocus on the positive.  It is hard to let go of a dream.

But, maybe it is time to try again.  Maybe I will try a different church this time.  Maybe I'll try a time that does not include the children's mass.

The other big hurdle is going to be getting our marriage validated by the church.  That is a whole other blob of judgment and possible rejection waiting for me.  Ugh.

Houses on My Mind Again

Every now and again, I get this incredible itch to look for a house.  This yearning will well up and I will scour the internet checking out realtor websites to research homes in different neighborhoods of where I live.  This is not the first time I have felt this overwhelming desire to find a home, dreaming of settling into a life where having a family seems more tangible...or maybe more bearable without a child because less of life will feel in limbo.

Last winter, a friend, who knows about my history with IF and was pregnant at the time, said with a smile that I'm nesting.  She is hopeful that one day I will be a mom.

It is difficult to have these feelings with nothing to nest.

February Run Down

Time is strange.  While it feels like time just keeps flying, I also feel stuck and that things are moving slowly.  I am busy everyday but I wonder, how much am I actually accomplishing?  It is another back dated post, but I seem to want to jot down some notes so that maybe I can see some progress, movement or forward motion.

Looking for a job is a full-time job.  It is a constant cycle of researching, completing applications and following up.  There is always more.

My health is important and having insurance is a priority.  There is relief that I can get it, but it is expensive--the laws vary from state to state and there are so many variables as to who is eligible for reduced premiums.  My arm still hurts and I need care.

Emotional IF meltdown with a trifecta of triggers.

• Read an article linked from a blog about new research suggesting that the decline of egg quality is more like in the range of 33 to 37.  It means that egg decline begins earlier than 35 and that the range ends more quickly than previously thought.  It is more like dropping off a cliff.  While I know getting pregnant at 35 or after is high risk and greatly reduced, I thought there was more time in the decline.  I thought the time to be more realistic for it not happening for me would be around 40 or 42.  If the cliff is 37, then I have about six months to get pg.  And that is highly unlikely because the timing has been derailed for me.  While I am in a relationship, it is not the right time for us.  We just moved in with each other, my career is unsettled and I am unsure where I may be living in a year.  Life feels like it is on hold again in some ways.  And while the pause button has been pressed, time keeps passing and my window of opportunity gets smaller and smaller.
• This got me thinking about my age and I realized that I am older than what my mom was when my sister was born.  My mom had my sister when she was 35 and I was 11.  I look at what my parents had at my age--marriage, a house, children, career and being part of the community.  I am nowhere near that and I feel like I am just floating and drifting from space to space.  There are no roots, stability or routine.  Everything is up in the air.  While some envy the freedom of my life in having choices to make my life whatever I want, the reality is that I am limited in my choices.  The economy is really tough and I don't want to rush my relationship with T~.  Time is a limited resource.
• Then I return to those urges where I so very much want to be a mom.  And I wonder, was having a sister 11 years younger than me as close to motherhood that I am going to get?  Will I only get glimpses of it through my godchildren?  Will I only experience it through the joy I feel for my friends as they share pictures and stories about their own children?  Is it just not supposed to happen for me?

March is coming and while I am not specifically sad about the twins, I think I am feeling that undercurrent of emotion.  It has quieted down this year.  I think that I have made significant gains in my grief over the loss of adoption of them.  I think these overwhelming emotions are more related to facing the possibility that I may not ever become a mother.  Time is not out, but at some point you have to face reality--even getting ready to face that possible reality.

The twins would have been five-years-old this year, preschoolers getting ready for Kindergarten.

A Yellow Jacket

Holidays are tough for me and Mother's Day is coming.  Sometimes I can feel very lonely, whether it is a day spent by myself because my family is far away or if it a day spent in a room full of people--even people I love.  Sometimes holidays can feel like a reminder of what was lost in terms of hopes and dreams--for myself and my parents.  There can be sense of failure.

Last summer before I moved from Pittsburgh, I spent time purging to lighten the load to pack.  Overall, it felt really good and freeing.  There was a bunch of stuff that I gave to my mom to pass along to my goddaughter.  I figured she would appreciate it more than sitting in my closet or on a shelf collecting dust.  It felt good.

Then a few weeks ago my mom forwarded me a picture of my godchild, O~.  She was wearing my yellow spring jacket that I had as a small child.  My mom explained that when my cousins came for Easter, the girls wanted to go outside, but it had grown chilly and O~ didn't bring a coat.  So, my mom went into the closet and found the jacket and offered it to her to wear.  It fit her well and she wore it home.  In fact, she enjoyed the coat so much, my mom said she could keep wearing it.  The picture my mom sent over the phone was of O~ and LJ going for a walk in the woods in a park near their home.

But somehow this picture did not elicit the same feelings of when I gave O~ the Teacher Barbie and children's books.  My heart was sad, and then I felt guilty.  My mom had always said that she saved some of my old clothes because she thought that when I had children that maybe they could wear some of them.  What was once something I imagined would be for my children, was now being worn by someone else's child.  And I cried.  But, I did not let my mom know.  I didn't have the heart to tell her.  She was so excited and happy to share that O~ loved the coat and was so proud to be wearing it.

I mean, I had given pause in the summer when I gave my mom some of my stuff to give to O~, but that stuff didn't seem to have as much meaning.  The children's books were kind of a helpful reduction in the mass of books I had collected for my classroom library.  In fact, I told my mom to share with my cousins that if there were any books that they didn't really like, to just give them away.  The Teacher Barbie was something A~ gave to me as a Christmas present when we were in undergrad together.  I went back and forth on that one.  It spoke to my roots in teaching, but I kept thinking about him when I saw it.  I figured O~ would have more fun playing with it. 

But, what I had held back was a little pearl necklace.  I don't remember how old I was when my parents gave it to me, but I do remember feeling like it was one of my first real pieces of jewelry.  It is a kid's version and not real, but it was close enough as a kid.  I went back and forth.  Why should it just sit in a jewelry box when O~ could probably enjoy it?  But the nagging thought was, what if I have a little girl someday and I want to give it to her?  Would I regret giving it to O~?  If I gave it to her, would that be giving up on my dream of being a mother?  Would I be giving something away in haste and later have regret?

Somehow the yellow jacket had more meaning for me, too.  I think it goes back to how items of clothing can carry so much more meaning for some people.  And even though the jacket was mine as a child, was it mine to give away?  This jacket really belongs to my mom and it is really for her to decide in some ways, I think, maybe.  So if that is the case, what does that mean?  Has my mom given up the dream that I will have a child someday?  Has my mom given up the dream that she will have a grandchild?  I thought that coat was special.  Maybe it doesn't carry as much meaning as I thought it did for my mom?  Or maybe her intent is that O~ can borrow it and then return it when she grows out of it?

I don't know.  I just know that I feel terribly upset about it, and I feel incredibly guilty and selfish for feeling sad about it.  My heart hurts in so many different ways.  And in the picture O~ just looks so happy and like she is having fun wearing the jacket.  How can I feel so sad when it makes O~ and my mom so happy?  At least I know that by my cousin taking a picture of O~ wearing the coat and sending it to my mom she knows it is important, has meaning and will take care of it.

The Sting of Longing

The other day, another one of my coworkers asked me if I had any children.

Then later, as I was carrying a baby doll with a medical play preparation kit down the hall, someone remarked how natural I looked carrying the baby.

My heart broke a little bit...

with a combination of old, dull hurts and a seemingly semi-silly longing.

And I wonder if I am getting better at hiding it.

It has been suggested that I take it as a compliment and that people only mean well.  But it still doesn't take away the initial sting.  It takes a conscious effort to pause, breathe and mentally let it pass as it is replaced by a drifting, distant sadness where I try to feign normalcy.

A Collision of Selves

A little over a week ago, I was at a team huddle meeting at work.  My boss was telling a story about the talent show/variety show at a local medical college for it's first graduating class.  It is not so much of the talent show from elementary school, as most people who were performing were quite talented in their performing arts.  It serves as a celebration beyond the sciences before the students have Match Day to find out their assignments for residency.  My boss was briefly cluing people into the Match Day process, where the medical students go on interviews for residency and then the students and the hospital programs rank their preferences.  All of this information is submitted into a computer program for the entire country and it does its computing and matches most all of the students to a program.  Then on Match Day, each student's name is called and they are given an envelope to open and find out where they will go for residency.  Match Day is in late March, and most students have about six weeks to finish classes and pack up and move for the next step.  The talent show/variety show is an opportunity to take pause and celebrate before the mayhem begins and everyone goes their separate ways.

My boss was very impressed and touched by the talent show/variety show experience.  As he was describing it, I found myself swept away by an emotional wave that took me back to a place I did not anticipating revisiting.  My eyes started to get teary and I had to look away and not make eye contact with anyone in the room.  All with that brief summary of Match Day, it took me back to the time when I was with A~ and going through that process.  It felt like my past life was flashing in snippets before me, with the excitement, nervousness and wonder about what was going to be the next chapter in our lives together.  I remember when he came home after the first round of interviews.  He was bounding with a brightness of fantastic possibility that we did not realize was before us.  Our initial expectation was that he was going to probably rank Pittsburgh or Cleveland as top choices.  But when he came home and told me about some of the other programs and what they had to offer, I felt it was important to be open to those other choices.  So, I went with him for other interviews and second looks to check out other cities and take it all into consideration.  It was a beautiful time when A~ and I really worked as a team and he included me in his career choices because it was going to impact our life together.  We were giddy with the new found adventure before us, and we were scared to let our parents down if we ended up in another city.  We tried to buffer the news, but we were also cautious about sharing too much because we did not want them to try to convince us otherwise.  This had to be our decision.  It was a chance to see how we could make it as a couple, and it would push us to grow in ways we could not imagine.

And so I sat there with all of these warm, bubbling memories of a life past, a life now gone.  As quickly as these moments surfaced, along came the crashing flood of sadness and grief.  I thought back to my old self, feeling sad for her not knowing what was to come.  How brave and trusting she was in her relationship with A~ and feeling like they were on the edge of something incredible.  All of the sacrifice, the dreaming and the determination of really making it together with him...gone, all very gone.  All of that work and planning and hope...all just so far away gone. 

Was it all for nothing?  Is it now meaningless?  What was the point?

And there I sat, with my job... in a hospital... in Florida... in a place that my old self would have never imagined, especially not without him by my side.  For a moment, I felt outside of my own body and I just felt so sad.

How long had it been?

Ten years.

Ten years ago this holiday season, I was out on the road traveling with him squeezing in interviews and second look visits while popping in to see our family for the holidays.

My life feels like it could be nothing further than what my old self would have or could have imagined.  And now where am I?  How was it that I came to work at a hospital?  Is it weird or strange that my life has taken this path?

What will happen in the next ten years?  How much will change?  How much will I change?  Will I be happy?  Or will I be lost and waiting?

The emotional swells have been reverberating within me, as I try to find a place of balance, strength and acceptance of my current reality.  I know I am in a place of transition once again.  I just need to be patient.  It is okay to grieve what was lost, honor it and put it down again.

I Saw You Looking Back...

as you were pulling away from the driveway in your car.  I pretended not to notice as I took out the Tupperware containers from my lunch bag to be placed in the dishwasher.  I casually spun around and returned my lunch bag to its place on top of the refrigerator.  In that moment of glancing up and out of the kitchen window in the midst of my usual after work routine, I saw you do something that you never did before when we were together...something that when we were together I looked for so hopefully.

I cannot tell you how many times I stood by my kitchen window watching as you left.  Part of it is my familial habit of walking visitors, friends and family to the door when saying good-bye and then watching and waving in their send off.  Sometimes it seems silly, but I cannot help these rituals.  It provides some sense of comfort, hope and well wishes exchanged between myself and those that I care about until I see them again.  When it is reciprocated, there is a sort of feeling of closure in that moment, almost like an acknowledgement...until the next time...or...my spirit is with your spirit.

But when we were together, you never looked back.  You would jump into your car and off you went...zoom...onto the next adventure in life.  So many times you were full of energy and bounding to do the next thing.  I wondered if I was hardly a thought in your mind as you carried about your day after you left.  You seemed so comfortable in your leaving.  But was it that you took for granted that you would return to me?

Today you paused.  You were looking up at me, and what seemed like the first time that you had been watching me.  It's strange to suddenly realize that you are being observed.  My breath slipped away and when I neared your eyes, I looked away.  I didn't want you to see me noticing you noticing me.  The thing that I longed for when we were together and you didn't do, suddenly now you took the time to do.

My heart hurts and it's not fair.  There are days that I still miss you, still think about you and wonder why it could not have worked.  I loved you so.  But then I think back to the things that secretly brought me relief when it was over.  And that saddens my heart, too.  It comes in cycles of mourning, sadness and anger that get smaller and smaller with time.  They are followed by the building of strength that comes from productively feeling the pain...to honor what was lost in order to move onward.

Why did you have to look at me in that way today from your car?  It was awkward enough to have to ask you to come and unlock my door after I locked my keys in my apartment.  You were kind about it, but you could hardly look at me.  And I could hardly look at you.  We were polite and asked the obligatory, "How are you?"  I sensed that you did not want to be there in that space with me as it felt quietly rushed.  Both were seemingly insouciant, but with more under the surface than what either of us was willing to admit.  I cannot imagine what the real thoughts were in your head.  I have no idea.

As you were unlocking the door, I just kind of glanced around you.  I could not look at you, as much as I wanted to catch a glimpse of your face.  A song came to my mind, one that is so cliche, but snippets kept jumping out at me...

"Dreams, that's where I have to go to see your beautiful face anymore." 

I almost felt like I would rather just remember you the way that I imagine than to painfully see you in this current reality knowing you are no longer with me. 

"I would lie and say that you're not on my mind."