Cycles.February 28, 2013 at 10:44 am | Posted in Choosing Happiness., Crazy Talk (aka: Therapy), Heartbreak | 9 Comments
It was a random thought that struck me yesterday.
If I had stayed pregnant, I’d be close to hitting my third trimester.
I don’t know why it came as such a surprise – the idea that I’d still be pregnant. Maybe because I feel like so much has changed since the D&E. Maybe because being pregnant was only a couple of weeks, and months have passed since then. Maybe because I have no hope of having another baby left. I don’t know.
What I do know is the emotion: I was surprised to think that if things had been different, I’d be pregnant. I’d be feeling our son or daughter move around inside me. (I’d probably be uncomfortable and tired and short on patience and achy, too.)
It’s interesting; my grief seems to ebb and flow with my cycle. Each month when I get AF, I’m struck by the passage of time. Another month gone by; a reminder that there’s no hope left of things being different than they are now.
I know, it sounds morbid and depressing and awful. And on CD 1 and 2, it IS enough to make me ache.
But honestly, the idea of being pregnant seems so foreign to me. It was a long time ago – 5 years now – where I was pregnant with Lucky.
And yes, I’ve been pregnant twice since then, but never for more than a few weeks.
It’s just different somehow, now. I’ve stopped planning for the next baby. I’ve given away most of my maternity clothes and Lucky’s baby and toddler clothing. I’ve donated all of my own clothes which are now 3-4 sizes too big, whereas before I used to hold onto it, you know, just in case.
I can’t imagine my life being different than it is today.
And where most of the time I am used to this reality – the idea that this IS our family, there’s no real hope of having more children – it’s hard those first few days of a new cycle. For some reason, whenever I’m about to get AF, I dream of babies; in them my heart is full with thankfulness that my deepest wish has been granted. On those nights, I grieve when my alarm wakes me and I realize, it was only a dream, Serenity.
Ebbing and flowing, the grief comes and goes.
And my therapist tells me that it’s possible to be happy, overall, even while grieving. Always, when she says it, I wonder how it is possible.
But I’m curious to see if it’s possible for me to feel that way someday.
Because the one thought that has popped into my head recently, too, is this idea. Maybe I’m supposed to find fulfillment elsewhere. Maybe I’m not meant to have more than one child. My nieces, my nephews, my friends’ daughters and sons – they’re all part of my life.
So maybe, for me to heal, the definition of ‘my family’ needs to change.