She Turned a Year Old Yesterday...

It's a date I shouldn't remember, but I do.

I wish my brain could forget it, but it can't.

She was almost ours; she was almost our daughter.

I hate that I remembered her birthday.

I didn't want to say anything to Michael. I didn't except him to remember, and I wasn't going to hold it against him if he forgot. I was actually avoiding him, because I didn't want to tell him why I was sad. But when he asked what was wrong, I started to cry and said,

"She's a year old today."

"I know. I know it's her birthday."

Hearing him say that was like a breath of fresh air. I felt so reassured that he remembered too. I didn't feel so alone in my grief. I started to cry in earnest. Telling him that I need to forget this date. It's not healthy to keep remembering and holding onto something that is not mine.

I have to let her go if I'm to move onto to the next match, whenever that may be.

Happy Birthday, baby girl. Wherever you are, I hope you had a great birthday yesterday. I need to stop thinking about what our lives would be like if you were in it. It's not healthy for me to keep wishing you were here with us. It's not good for me to remember how old you would be each 3rd of the month.  I'm sorry things didn't workout. I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to be your mom. Have a good life. Be a good girl. This is goodbye.

Love,
Jonelle

High Expectations

Thanks for all the supportive comments on my last post.

Sometimes I need to be reminded that grief isn't linear. Instead it has its peaks and valleys. I'm just so tired of finding myself in yet another valley. I know I'll make it out eventually, and that it will take time. But because of the holidays it feels extra hard to climb and reach my peak.

After Friday's post I was hit with a bit of an epiphany.

I sometimes wonder if after being on this rocky road of infertilty for so long (8 years, this last September), if I've become so callous, so closed off, that there isn't anything anyone can tell me that will make me feel better about my situation.


This whole time I've been waiting for someone to tell me something that will make me feel better. Encouraging words that will save me and pull me out of the darkness that has found me. Words of wisdom that will help me navigate through the perpetual grief that seems to find me whenever I find a respite.

The harsh reality is that I don't think such words exist. There are no words to ease the grief, unless I want to hear useless platitudes that are about as useful as a chocolate teapot (ooh chocolate). And if I'm waiting for such words to be said to me, that is a horribly high expectation I have put on my friends.


This whole time I've been expecting them to know what to say to me, and that is a bit twisted, not to mention utterly stupid.

This is what I have been struggling with, until I had this epiphany Friday night.

Most of my friends don't know the pain we've gone through to have a child. They know our story, and the struggle, but they have never experienced the pain of infertility, and honestly, I don't wish for them to know that particular kind of pain. It's lonely, and it sucks.


So what words do I not want said to me? Please don't tell me that our baby is out there somewhere, because what if she/he isn't. Please don't tell me that we'll be great parents someday, because what if we never get the opportunity. I know this may sound harsh, but these phrases don't help us.

Just tell me you are thinking of us, and if you are the praying kind, just say you are praying for us. Truly, those are the best words.

Putting a Time Line on Grief

I'm trying to enjoy the upcoming Christmas season...but really I can care less. I've partically decorated our apartment, which means I've put a red tablecloth on the kitchen table and replaced the everyday placemates and seat cushions to the Christmas ones.

I feel like I'm suppose to be joyful and really...I'm not feeling the joy.

I feel like I should be over the grief from the failed adoption, but I'm not. I know my pain isn't unique. I know that there are people out there in the ALI community that have gone through much worse. And really, I think we were quite fortunate that the adoption fell through a week before the baby was born, so it shouldn't feel so horrible, but I do.


I just hate that we have to go through the grieving process again. Its so exhausting, and its so much harder during Christmas. I'd like to be over this by January, but I don't think I can put a timeline on grief. Can I?


Church is becoming a hard place to go to lately. Nearly everyone knows what happened, which is making me feel a bit exposed.

There's a new baby at our church. The interim pastor was holding her on Sunday and my heart hitched as I looked at him hold her while talking to her parents. I looked away, and as I did, I met the eyes of a woman who knows what happened to us. I felt ashamed that I got caught looking at the baby.

To help me survive December, I'm looking forward to January - we are getting a new kitten. Hopefully, Jack will be up for having a new sibling.

Boxed In

I have been going back and forth between angry and weepy. Last week I had a bit of a breakthrough talking to Michael about it. I think I said before that its not so much wanting to know 'Why?' as much as 'What was the point?'.

I think deep down I know what the point of all this was, though its quite personal and I won't share it here. It did help me feel a bit better, if only just a bit.

I started feeling better and so I left the apartment for the first time in two weeks, of my own volition, to go work out. I had realized that I hadn't left the apartment unless someone was 'making' me. I made the excuse of staying home because we are moving into a new apartment and someone has to pack our junk stuff.

Well it felt weird leaving the security of my home, but it was time to get out. I was okay. I worked out, talked to my former co-workers, visited for a while and then headed to Star.bucks. The barista knows me, and so she cheerfully said, "Hi, I haven't seen you in ages, where have you been?" To which I said, "Yeah, its the first time I've been out in two weeks."

Crap, why did I have to open my mouth.

She asked me what happened and then I start to tell her about the adoption and how it fell apart and that is when I started crying right there in my favourite place. She was really sweet about it. She came around from behind the counter and stood next to me while I told her the shorten version of the story. She gave me a hug and my drink and scone were on the house. I started crying again when I realized she wouldn't take my card.

I was so embarrassed. I can't believe I cried...in public...and got a free drink and scone because I cried.

Really, I'm just so tired of grieving. I know its necessary that I do, especially in this instance, but honestly I'm so tired that I have to do it again. I just want to move on and put this behind me.

Anyway, to help me move on, I bought a gift box today to put all the things I had bought for the baby that we aren't going to be using anytime soon. Its nothing much, just some clothes, bibs, and a book. I put the folder from our Baby Care Basics class in there too as well as the ultrasound pic in the book (I couldn't throw it away, that seemed way too harsh).

Also, I got shipping labels to send back the car seat and pack n' play, which I would like to send back this weekend. My mom gets back from TN tomorrow and Monday she wants to do something so hopefully we can fit in going to B r Us to send back the stuff we both bought and then I get my closet back.

I almost didn't leave the house again today. I started crying at random things (well not so random, just the usual baby News Feed on FB).

The interesting thing is the anxiety hasn't returned, but since I'm having trouble leaving the apartment its possible it's already here and I'm just now realizing it.

ETA: All baby stuff has left the building. I got cash from the stuff I returned from B r Us and put it directly on my Star.bucks card (it felt fitting to go there.)

Thank you Apple, Inc for once again reminding me that I'm infertile.

Have you seen the new iPhone 4 commercial? This woman tells her husband through the new video share feature that she is pregnant. However, before she shares this precious news with her husband she tortuously drags out the news by asking first if he has a minute, then asks if he is alone and finally says, "You know that thing we've been working on for a while now. Well..."


I'll admit the commercial is sweet, but after being beaten to death with it yesterday, it started to slowly pry open a wound that I wasn't aware still had tender spots, but one that I had hoped I had come to resolve and move on from. It was a part of myself that didn't want to be reminded of the life experiences taken away from us by IF.

It made me a bit sad that something so sweet, albeit poorly scripted and executed, could resurface the bitterness and anger I had at the course God has put us on. The unfairness of not being consulted of the detour He would set for us in our life plan. Our dream of biological children shattered and needing to be mourned. The constant inappropriate questions from people asking us about children and if we wanted any.

I know that there will be always something like a commercial, a movie plot, or a TV episode that will bring back those feeling of loss and anger. I know its not something that I can hide from. I just hate getting the wind knocked out of me while watching my favorite program.

Because it's things like this that get me thinking of questions I still don't have answers to like, "Why did God choose us to be the ones to deal with IF? Why does He think we can handle it? What does it all mean? What is He preparing us for? What lessons are we suppose to be learning? Have we learned them yet?"

The only possible "answer" I can come up with that makes sense to me is that maybe He is preparing us to be better people, and hopefully better parents. I honestly don't know. I'm sure I'll never know why God chose this path for us.

As hard as the road of IF is, I do believe in my heart that God's plan is always perfect, more perfect than I can ever imagine. I may not be able to see how our journey ends, but knowing God is walking with us as we are on this path makes it more bearable.

I just hate when stupid things like TV commercials remind me that I'm infertile. Praise God for a mute button, though I do wish a mute button applied to people as well.

The Wisdom of Glee

Can I just say how much I love the show Glee? Well of course I can, this is my blog :) Anyway, Tuesday's episode was really great, lots of twists, Neil Patrick Harris awesomeness (I've never heard him sing before. Yes I know, I live in a cave), but for me the highlight of the episode was Artie's subplot.

Tina wanted Artie to do a dance number with her. It didn't turn out so good. Encouraging him that he will walk again one day, Tina brings Artie a mountain of paperwork of breakthrough research that she found in regards to spinal cord injuries.

And then there was the best part of the show...Artie's daydream dance sequence set to Men without Hats Safety Dance.

But the real clincher for me was toward the end of the episode when Artie realizes that he may never be able to walk again. And he tells Tina gently, "I have to focus on dreams that I can make come true." 

I nearly cried, because that is what I've been trying to do for the past six months, but no one will help me move on. No one will help me redirect my focus. No one will allow me to let go of the dream of having a biological child. Its almost like they are somewhat discouraged that they now have to pray for our adoption. Like we are settling for something else and not "focusing on the miracle".

I know these people are well-intentioned when they tell us that they are "praying for a miracle of a biological child," or that they are "believing in God to bring us a child of our own."  But its difficult to feel their support when their focus is so much different than ours.

I can't afford to hold onto that hope, or believe that God will someday allow us to have a child that is half me and half Michael. I can't continue to think about when God will ever open my womb, because He might not choose to do so. I can't keep focusing on what if this month is the month, because honestly, I've been doing that for six years and all it brings is disappointment when I don't see two pink lines.

Instead, I have to focus on dreams that I can make come true.

And because I love Glee and Artie here is his 'Safety Dance'