Unheld hands

Well... I survived being back to work today, but just barely, after having yesterday's BFN day off. It was so hard today. Two hours of management meetings didn't help. Half I just didn't care about in the least, the other half was about evaluations and career planning (both for ourselves and for coaching our employees.) Talk about career planning and future is just so ridiculous to me. I know where I want to be, and it has nothing to do with work; I just can't get there...

Don't misunderstand, I appreciate my job very much. It can be frustrating, but more so, it's incredibly rewarding because I get to directly help people, who are very much in need of help. I believe in what we do, and I feel good about it. That said, if you are going to make me think about where I want to be in a couple years, and what my priorities are - it's not there. As much as I care about the people I help, and I very much do, my heart wants what it wants. It wants to be a mom.

In these meetings today, I felt like the room was spinning around me. I was watching all my colleagues floating around me. Everyone moving, everyone progressing, everyone everyoning.... but there I sat, choking back tears as I tried not to stare at the pregnant one, as I tried not to think about all the newborns born to the people in that room in the last year.

Many times I almost burst into tears, but I chugged down some Diet Pepsi instead. I've cut back dramatically on Diet Pepsi, but in the days following BFN, all bets are off. Especially during meetings. Anyhow, I'd brought two 20 oz bottles with me, so I was prepared for the battle.

It was so hard with them all whirling around me saying words and nodding and writing and planning. Why does the world keep going on and on and on, when my heart is shattered into a million pieces? Doesn't the world know? Why were we talking about the print budget? Travel? Evaluations? Competencies? I don't know and I don't care. Just stop. Just stop moving, stop swirling... It all keeps going, but I just stay where I am.

For six years, a week, and a few days, I've been in a holding pattern, you see. Always waiting, always the next cycle... always resilient, always knowing that this time, this month - this could be the miracle. I'm still waiting. And the world is still moving, time is still churning. I know this because I have a lot more wrinkles than six years, a week, and a few days ago.

Doesn't my pain matter? Can't we just stop for a bit - maybe just for long enough to let me stop feeling the entire weight of this loss.

Yes, "loss." It's true, I've never been pregnant, so technically, I haven't lost anything, right? Hmm. Then why do I feel this tremendous ongoing loss? Why this grief that always hovers over me, even on the best of days? It's the fine art of losing what you never had. Laura Bush describes it perfectly:

"The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence. For the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child or friend, we have all manner of words and phrases, some helpful some not. Still we are conditioned to say something, even if it is only “I’m sorry for your loss.” But for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?" (Laura Bush, "Spoken from the Heart")

Loss.

Sometimes I can feel that tiny hand, you know. A sweet, tiny, warm, brown little hand.

But the world goes on, even if I'm not quite ready to join it yet.

As I reached the doorknob into my department this morning, I stopped and prayed, "please Lord, help me today." It was still so hard, but I'm thankful for the strength to keep on. I didn't burst into tears at any of the meetings, after all. Sounds like a win to me.

I think I'll get up tomorrow. Put on some clothes. Get in the car. Paste on a smile. Breathe in and out all day long.... Do it again. Each day holds the possibility of a miracle, after all, right? Just like death could not stop true love for the Princess Bride, grief cannot stop true miracles. But, if you rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles... and you shouldn't go in swimming for, what, a half hour after? Hmm, well, those probably only apply to human miracle men. Fortunately, God is greater than even the mighty Miracle Max.

"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." (Psalm 73:26)