The definitive answer: No.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011 at 04:03PM The journey began here and here.
It ends here.
This week was the week we were to know if it was a yes or a no. If we would be on the trek to having a child. The answer my body gave me was no.
I've never been one to look forward to my cycle and this time was no different. Except that I dreaded it. I spent the last two weeks pretending that I wasn't spending every moment dreading what I knew would come. Hoping, against hope, that it wouldn't.
Life's a bitch.
When the answer came, I fell apart. I wish I could say that I met it with a stoic bracing of my shoulders, a nod to the whimsy that is the reproductive system, and a knowledge that something else was meant to be. I wish I could say that I didn't curl into the fetal position and sob.
I can't.
Luckily, The Guy was home on a rare extra day off. He took care of me while my world -- the one I had planned in my head -- crumbled around me. He brought me tea, held my hand, did what good men do. He felt helpless because he couldn't fix it. But, who could?
I slept a few hours and then moved to lay motionless on the couch. We watched TV and just waited. A few hours later, I fell apart again, dissolving into a boneless pile on the floor. The Guy picked me up, got me to bed and waited with me while I grieved.
I am grieving. I didn't expect that. I didn't expect the similar pain to a death of a loved one. The pain in my heart where I knew a hole had been bored and could never be filled in the same way again. I am grieving the loss the children I have already named. The children I have waited for since I was a teenager. The ones I have saved things for with the thought that I will share them with my daughter, read them to my son, experience them with my children.
I am grieving the daughter with my mother's eyes. I am grieving the son who copies the behaviours of my husband because he wants to be just like him. I am grieving hours of diaper changes, late nights, fighting over homework, learning to ride a bike, and playing with the dog in the park.
We don't know what the future will bring. Maybe we will be the couple who travels the globe and experiences everything and who cannot say their life is not as full. Maybe we will be the dog hoarders who behave as though the 4 legged creatures are children and act as though that fills the void.
Maybe we will try again when we can afford it and when The Guy doesn't live in terror thinking that I will fall apart again.
Reader Comments (11)
I wish I had something to say other than I'm so sorry for your loss. It really is a loss, and you will grieve, and I am truly heartbroken for you.
Grieving is a very, very normal response. It's a loss unlike any other, and so there's no script at all for what happens at this point. I'm so sorry it's turned out like this, Bron, I truly am.
Do you know the Stirrup Queen? She manages (among other things) lists of blogs by people going through IF, and she has a list of those whose journey has come to an unwanted end: (html is wonky, so URL instead) http://www.stirrup-queens.com/a-whole-lot-of-blogging-brought-to-you-sorted-and-filed/living-child-free-room/ Sometimes it can help to abide with others who have gone through the same, sometimes not. Do what you need to take care of yourself and make yourself feel ok. Moving forward can come later.
Wishing you all the peace, serenity, and strength in the world.
I am crying with you 3000km away... I cannot imagine what you are feeling, but I hope it helps to know that you have friends who empathize with you... & not just because you're so darn good at expressing yourself on here -- sending hugs & sunshine in the hopes that The Guy won't have to pick you up off the floor much longer... you're one of the strongest women I know!
I love you, kiddo.
I'm so sorry. It's so hard. I'd love to offer you some words of hope, but I know they wouldn't be adequate. Just know that it's okay (definitely not easy, but absolutely okay) to feel what you're feeling. Sending you a big hug, too.
Oh honey I am so sorry. So very sorry. I wish, as I'm sure we all do, that I could fix it all for you. Hugs, prayers and...anything else you need that is doable.
Dear Bronwyn,
I am so sorry.
Life is not fair when the gift of parenthood seems so indiscriminately given.
Crying with you 50 feet away.
M
Just back on line. No internet in our old Soviet hotel in Kokshetau. 10:30 am your time so can't call but will tomorrow. I am so sorry. Do what needs to be done now and think about tomorrow tomorrow. Love you lots. Houses and lots.
I feel for you, hon. Your heart is large, and you have room for more love, so don't apologize for grieving. It's hard.
I'll be thinking of you.
I wish I could say something that would offer you some comfort right now, but I really have no idea what that could be. I have never desired something as much as you wanted this, & I can't imagine the depth of loss that you are feeling right now. I offer you hugs, & my sympathy, & someone to rail at the sky with if it is ever needed.
I'm sorry for your loss. Your big heart is one of the most amazing things about you so I hope you will never put yourself down for caring too much.