trigger warning: loss
Well, here we are on the other side. Three weeks and a surgery (yep, a surgery) later and my body is back to square one. Well, close anyway.
Surgery was scary for me, but I did okay. (Read: I didn’t cry the ENTIRE time I was at the hospital – just part of it.) I got to go home just a couple hours after the procedure and my sweet husband was with me the entire time.
Within 24 hours, I was feeling better than I had in weeks, despite still feeling tired. Here I sit, 48 hours later and I feel pretty much back to normal. I’m still exhausted – I’m not sleeping well yet… all the feels come out at night when the lights go out, yo. It takes a while to drift off.
Grief. It slaps you hard across the face and then, after a few good cries, you think maybe you have tamed it. Not a chance. It sneaks back in, creeping behind even your best moments – always threatening to take you down. (Usually when in public. A real bastard is Grief.) It disguises itself as self doubt. Anger can direct it inward as blame. There’s something about a failure (even a self perceived one) that makes you examine every other failure in your life. It’s a dangerous road to head down.
With the physical part of this disaster nearly in the rearview, I am left with the rest. This is where the real work begins.
About a month after my first loss, I sat on a lakeside rock in Maine. It is a rock I have sat on as long as I’ve been big enough to climb out to it. That day, I snuck away from my family and found solace in the fresh air and pine trees. The blue sky and water from that vantage point is pretty much my “happy place”. I had a good cry out there on that rock and said goodbye to my never-to-be baby. It felt right to let go of some of my grief there in a sacred, safe space – and it felt like by saying goodbye, I was leaving their spirit there in the most serene setting, close to my heart. It was a very good thing and it helped me immensely.
That opportunity was dropped in my lap, of course. A trip we had planned well before knowing any of that would happen. It’s not an option at the moment. But, I am trying to open my mind to other possibilities. Somewhere secluded, where I could be alone to meditate… somewhere with personal meaning. I think it could help me process all that has happened. I’m calling this one a work in progress.
And as I am one of those folk whose mind works best when their body is also in working order, I am setting out to lose the twenty pounds that three miscarriages have saddled me with. My own fault, of course, for not dealing with it as it happened… but, in fairness, every time I seemed to be getting somewhere, I got pregnant again.
We have made no decisions about our future outside taking a break for my body to heal and get strong. I’m starting today and I think it will help me to have a physical goal that I can write down and work toward. (Type A personality, anyone?)
When we look past that horizon, things are still fuzzy. It feels impossible to do this again. Like, impossible. But, any time I think about not trying again… it feels impossible that this is the end of the story. I can’t seem to cope with this ending on such a ridiculously depressing note. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that there is supposed to be one more child here with us. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that this isn’t over.
Where those feelings will settle or will lead us obviously remains to be seen. For now, I will get my feet back on the road and on the trail, and my head back in the daily game of running a house and raising a nearly three year old. There is a beauty in our day to day rhythm and I have missed it sorely these past few weeks.
Time to come back to life.