Our Wonderfully Made

Last night I found myself sitting in the dark, candles lit, listening to that same soundtrack with songs I started setting aside from losing Lyric just over a year ago (read: What I’ve learned from those who’ve comforted me during loss for the playlist). Here I am again. I thought I was “in the clear”. I thought I had overcome the backwards grief this time. I thought I was good. Good, you know, like no more emotional breakdowns in the vehicle, unable to leave the parking lot. Good in the sense, that a quiet, emotionally charged song wouldn’t make my eyes water within the first few chords. I knew of course that we would go through pain again, as we all do, and I do expect that to be a continuum. Yet, I didn’t know that it would be this same pain – yes, I expected it when thinking of our little ones above, or when the decision is made to start actively trying again for our rainbow baby. I guess I thought I could decide when this backwards grief was allowed in. Like I was finally in control, after all the nights of writing, opening up the Bible, being vulnerable with friends (and strangers). I went through the process, now I was in control once again of all this… right?

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Wow, maybe I am a slow learner, but I am continually reminded that we’re not always in control. Those tears are going to come when they want to, those memories are going to flood back when you least expect it, and I don’t believe there will ever be a time when I am not susceptible to any of this. This is my story. It is part of what makes me the person I am today – and not the person I was last year, two years, or a decade ago. I’m still me, but refined as we’ve navigated the waters of loss and great hope. I hope that in one, two, ten years from now I will not be the same person as I am today, sharing here with you. I hope I am a better me, with all the scrapes and bruises, sharing our story as we go.

So, what the heck has been going on to trigger all this emotion? An update on where we are at with our journey, what’s going on with all these emotions.

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Branton and I decided shortly after losing Lael in April, that we would take a break from trying to conceive. Part of me wanted to try right away, thinking I was “totally fine”, and just wanted to hold our baby. But once I slowed down, I realized that what I needed wasn’t a positive pregnancy test in 30 days. I needed time. A mental reprieve. It also helped that our fertility team of experts recommended taking a break for four to six months, as my body has been through a lot in the last 16 months (well really the last four years), and my hormones need to be reigned in before we enter another pregnancy.

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For those reading this who have been on the ttc journey, especially for an extended period of time with no success, you understand how mentally, emotionally, and at times even physically, EXHAUSTING this journey is. It’s all you can think about. You dream about it (or in my case have nightmares about it – cue in, “I forgot my baby in the office all day, and just now am realizing I have a baby”, then waking up wondering if you actually do have a baby and are going crazy (crazy part confirmed ha)). At times, I would be with friends or family at events, and although I was there in person, I was definitely not present. My mind would be a tornado of ttc thoughts, “Was that egg white or more tacky?” (you ladies know what I mean), “Am I ovulating today?”, “I can’t believe I fell asleep with the basal body thermometer in my mouth again….”, “Did I take my prenatal once or twice today?”, “That barista totally forgot to give me decaf… Does matcha have too much caffeine? Did I drink enough water?”, and on and on and on it goes, whirling around. It becomes your obsession, or at least became mine. Throw that on top of constantly leaving work for weekly appointments, counting down the days until you can test your hcg levels (I literally photocopied ten requisition sheets from my OB for pregnancy blood tests), researching ways to enhance fertility (there is a LOT apparently lol), and there is not a whole lot of space up there for anything else.

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Oh, and maybe, just maybe, not everything is about ME??

 

The break has allowed me to feel alive again, truly engaging with people, and getting some “me” back. There has been a renewed spark in our marriage where I feel flirty again, deeply connected, and soaking in every minute together. We are going through a beautiful stage in our life as we recently moved into our dream neighbourhood and first house (with a yard!), and have enjoyed every minute of it, exploring the area. Everything seems to have a little sparkle. Even when our hot water tank blew up last week, and our fridge stopped working, it didn’t seem to bother me. I am just so happy to be here – one of our prayers that has been hugely answered. I never imagined being so content living through renovations, slooooowing down the process. Even the simplest of things like a bike ride to the market for groceries, feels like a dream come true. Maybe summers in Winnipeg does this for everyone! 

I realized that we are living right now, and every day is a beautiful blessing in and of itself. If I sit here waiting, wishing for the day we become parents to a healthy baby here with us, life is literally going to pass us by as I wait for it to unfold my way. Maybe this is our rainbow baby for now. Maybe that’s why I’m okay with slowing everything down, and taking the renos one step at a time (p.s. if you talked to me a few years ago, I would have wanted it all done NOW – I was very impatient ;). Maybe this is the way our life is meant to unfold at this time. Oh, and maybe, just maybe, not everything is about ME?? What a novelty… that perhaps I need to wake up, and be present for those around me. That there is a bigger mission out there than living a comfortable life.

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All this to say, it really came out of left field when I was hit with all these emotions OUT OF NO WHERE this past week. And I’m not quite sure if I am grieving the loss of our babies, or the journey through infertility itself. If I’m grieving instead, the fact that I am not pregnant today. Or if I’m grieving that after four years, I have never felt a baby kick in my belly, or welcomed one into our arms. Maybe its that after four years, I’ve felt my friends’ babies kick in their bellies, and watched them welcome their sweet littles into their arms.

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I think I’m grieving Lael. Just Lael.

 

I never finished this entry last night, as I was sitting with Branton, crying into his shoulder, and blubbering like a mess, my sad song playlist humming, rain hitting the window, when it came out. I think I’m grieving Lael. Just Lael. I’ve often felt that I’ve favoured Lyric over Arianna and Lael. That he was like my first love, and subsequently my first gut wrenching heartache. Whenever I meet with other loss moms, or friends going through infertility, I always find myself sharing him the most. I wear him on my wrist everyday, that sweet little lyric charm dangling by my side, yet don’t have a symbol of Lael. Although she was with us the longest – 12 weeks – it also happened so quickly that she was gone. Within 72 hours of knowing we lost her, I was in surgery for a D&C, whereas with Lyric, I had two weeks with him and the knowledge he was gone, before that time came.

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I took time off work after losing Lael due to the recovery from surgery. I thought I grieved her, but it wasn’t to the same extent as Lyric. Maybe this is what mom guilt feels like. So silly, as they aren’t even here with me today, yet I feel guilty for perhaps loving one more than the other, and trying to treat them fairly, acknowledging their own independent lives. Sitting there with Branton however, I felt crushed, like it was a new realization that she was in fact gone. Taking a break didn’t mean that she was away on vacation and would be coming back. She is gone. Her little life – one I believe was so uniquely her, even though so short, will never be here with us. And another baby won’t be her. You hear sometimes that grief hits months later, as it becomes reality that this is real, and is a forever thing, that your loved one isn’t simply away on holiday, to come home soon. I think this may be what I’ve been experiencing this week, and I am so happy that I got that time with her last night to miss her. Sounds strange, but I cherished that time where I could feel her again.

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I find great peace to know she is with her siblings in the most beautiful, perfect home imaginable and that one day we will be reunited. I’m not sure how or what that will look or feel like, but I believe when the Day comes, it will be unlike anything I can comprehend in this life. See you then, sweetie. I’ll leave you with this song. xoxo

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