Week Fourteen

no really, this is seriously officially the second trimester.

***pause for me to stuff brains back in from head exploding***

yeah, i'm still trying to believe it. of course the fact that i need to wear either very elasticishly-waisted garments or a maternity band at all times is an ever-present reminder. not to mention that 4x/day blood-drawing thing for the gestational diabetes. i have to say, that has turned out to be a good thing: firstly, it forced me to eat throughout the seasick months, and secondly, i'm sure it's made me eat about nineteen gabillion times more healthily than i would if left to my own devices. seriously, if i didn't have to worry about my blood sugars, i'd probably be baking scones every morning and drinking boba taro slushies all the time and hovering around Yogurtland constantly and going to sushi every week (oh hush, an entire nation called Japan has survived eating sushi while pregnant. look, i didn't say downing a bottle of wine every week, but that's a nation called France, or Italy...). i'm sure my body and Tummymuffin IV will thank me later for my enforced self-control.

we still haven't widely "announced" our news yet, but i'm taking baby steps (no pun intended. well, maybe not.). a few days ago i was onsite at work, and all my favorite coworkers were in one room...i took a deep breath and said heysincewe'reallhereishouldtellyouwe'reexpecting. hilariously, two of them immediately high-fived and claimed to have suspected for several weeks. seeing that one of them is 8 months pregnant and the other one just came back from maternity leave, okay, yes, maybe they did understand what was going on that day i was desperate to get to the fridge to eat my baggie of cheese and hardboiled egg. but still, i was actually surprised at how nice it felt to have all these people be happy.

plus, it's getting much harder to hide. i've gone from "did she have too much to eat at lunch?" to "hmm, she seems to have gotten plumpy over summer" to "is she shoplifting a large summer fruit under her shirt?". and apparently i've started giveaway (i'm told) mommyish gestures: either unconsciously rubbing my expanding belly or draping my arm over the top of it. this is what sold us down the pregnancy river tonight at a backyard party that T's grad school class was having to kick off the new term. the sharp-eyed observer asked, i confirmed that yes, we are, and WOO! all of a sudden we were surrounded with excited, exclaiming people -- cups appeared and wine was poured (and yes, the Italian did tell me i should drink it -- oh hush again! i didn't!) and toasting happened, over and over, and there was a lot of hugging and T was laughing and laughing.

thinking back, i did feel awkward in that moment; i felt like all that congratulations wasn't deserved yet: let's see if (s)he makes it first! is still a primary thought i often have despite my best efforts. but now, here, at the end of the day, i realise that this was the first time we've experienced what it's like to tell
non-family/close friends and enjoy the reaction. i'm soaking in the blooming warmth in my heart, and i'm understanding what a good and wonderful thing it is to share joy like that.

maybe i can get used to this...

Week Thirteen

it's been a big week for us and our Tummymuffins.

saying goodbye to Tummymuffin III seems to have made more room for us to get used to the fact that Tummymuffin IV is still with us, and boy is (s)he is looking more like a little human every day. (s)he performed splendidly for the ultrasound probe, flipping and flexing and prompting my OB/GYN to declare "this is really such a cute baby!" (and she claims she doesn't just say that about every fetus.) i think TM4 was just showing off for daddy, whose last view, around week 8, was of a teeny froglike creature with stubby proto-arms....and now, here was this giant (in relation to the size of my uterus) very baby-esque person waving around fingers and toes! yes, he was suitably impressed with his child.

and with that, we're officially into the second trimester. what what?! i'm still trying to wrap my head around that. the seasickness has not magically disappeared, but it's getting much better. the idea that we still have a real live baby that is, so far, showing very normal and healthy development feels so exotic and new and shiny that i'm still wearing loose clothes and saying nothing to the general non-blog-reading public. i simply don't even know quite how to say it to myself yet. it doesn't seem very festive to announce: Hey Everyone, We Might Have A Baby If It Continues To Survive! and yet -- this is how i still feel. i know this is another obstacle in crossing the Lake of Post-Pregnancy-Loss Fire, and you know what? i'm totally up for the challenge of navigating it. i just need to strategize...meaning: have another therapy appointment.

meanwhile, General Non-Blog-Reading Public Who Will Not See This Post Anyway: please stand by.

goodbye, little Three

since we don't know for certain when each of our lost Tummymuffins left us -- and quite frankly, we'd prefer to remember them for life rather than death -- we've chosen to memorialize their due dates rather than when we found out they were gone. having a ritual letting go -- naming them and saying goodbye -- has been enormously helpful to us in healing. for me, i've felt that i can "leave" my child and not keep dragging them around with me in an unhealthy way, still knowing that of course they'll always be with me, both physically and emotionally; even as life moves on, their tiny lives are part of mine forever.
and so our first one was left in one of the oldest churches in Rome, under a lovely mosaic. our second was left in a tiny ancient roadside chapel in Thomas' German hometown. as the date for our third approached, i wondered what to do or where to go, as we were here at home in Los Angeles. i only knew it should somehow be like the the other two: somewhere quiet and beautiful; a place that love and supplication have dwelt together with a holy Presence for a long time. i emailed a dear friend who's been part of this journey from the beginning to ask about a chapel i'd heard of; she said it wasn't a good place for that sort of thing, but suggested that i look into another place that was special to her; the oldest Protestant church in L.A. in continuous service. i'd never heard of it before, so i called to simply see if they open the sanctuary during the week for people who want a quiet place of prayer & reflection.
what transpired was nothing short of a miracle of compassion and grace.
the senior minister's assistant, instead of saying "no" (which was the technically correct answer; a school is also on the church grounds so they cannot leave it open to the public), offered to personally let us into the sanctuary whenever we wanted to come, even giving me her personal cell phone number to make sure she didn't miss us. it seemed quite random, but that sort of generosity of spirit isn't something you say no to. as we drove to an address in the middle of the bustling, breakneck city of concrete and glass, i wondered how any place here could possibly be, well, special.
when the GPS signaled us to to turn, it was obvious where we were going. rising out of the bland sidewalks and chunky office buildings was a gorgeous gothic-revival cathedral building, all vaults and towers and graceful arches. the minister's assistant, who met us at the side entrance, quietly let us in the side door. when we walked into the sanctuary, i knew we'd been sent to the right place. colored light spilled onto the stone floor from the numerous stained-glass windows, and a hushed peace seemed to be soaked into the walls. massive trumpet-like pipes (of what i was to later learn is the largest church pipe organ in the world) flanked both ends of the room. the warm, well-worn carved oak interior felt enveloping, in a comforting way -- it was indeed clear that the Holy had dwelt here for some time.
the minister's assistant had thoughtfully arranged to have the pastor on duty available in case we wanted someone to speak with us -- were we interested? now, usually i would have reflexively said oh so politely: no, thank you, no need to bother, we'll be fine: but suddenly i realised -- these losses have changed all of that. could we have borne them without the support, love, prayers, encouragement, shared sorrow, and cheers of others? would we truly have "been just fine" without accepting that encouragement from even the most unlikely of places, without reaching out and asking for help, without turning to every source we knew for wisdom and comfort? NO. absolutely NO. and so of course i caught the polite response in my throat, swallowed, and said YES.
we were sitting in silence, simply absorbing the beauty of the place and the gravity of why we were there when the pastor on duty, a smiling woman about our age, appeared, hands outstretched to us. she welcomed us and asked for a bit of our story; as we explained as best we could why we were there, a genuine empathy sagged her body as she listened. she asked if she could pray for us, and gathered our hands together. then she looked at me -- would i mind if she laid a hand on my belly, over the growing Tummymuffin IV as we prayed? she explained that when she was carrying her children, she found it comforting to have people bless her babies with a hand on her belly, but knew not all pregnant women like being touched. of course, i said, i want him or her to be part of this.
and so we stood there in the middle of this lovely sanctuary in the improbable middle of one of the busiest neighbourhoods in sprawling Los Angeles, three strangers bound together by compassion and need, as she spoke honest and authentic words of blessing and mourning, conversing with God as a True Presence, the One whose love was there, surrounding us when we needed it the most.

after she left us, we sat on the cool flagstones of the steps to the altar, looking at the massive rose window. i laid my head on Thomas' knee and cried for awhile, but it wasn't the kind of desolate, hollowed-out weeping that i've known all too well. instead, it felt like the release that it was, the familiar internal ritual of giving a name and saying goodbye to a child that i will never hold, and letting her go. goodbye my little Three*, i thought, thank you for letting me know you while i could.
and then the music started.
with timing that was both fantastically dramatic and delightfully comedic, the massive organ began thundering out a triumphant voluntary, the sort of music that plays in movies when the heavens open and the good prevails. somehow the tears kept falling but now we were laughing instead of crying. wow, she gets her own farewell soundtrack! i said. unbeknownst to us, we had somehow managed to come right before the organist usually begins his regular practice.
so we stayed for a bit, sitting there with our backs to the organist, just listening to the music surround us in all its layers and complexity. if you've ever be lucky enough to hear an accomplished pipe organist play music specifically written for such a magnificent behemoth of an instrument, you'll know it's like hearing a choir -- so many voices, tones, rhythms, musical lines all at once. the melodies and harmonies poured from the pipes, like sparkling rain into an already-rushing river. it felt healing to just soak in it.
driving home, Thomas looked at me. do you feel any different? he asked. i think so, yes, i replied. do you feel pregnant now? he asked. i laughed, but then saw he was serious. and i thought about it, looked inside, and yes -- there was a new feeling, a new lightness and a new acceptance of the fullness of my womb.
and so i am learning: perhaps the most important part of letting go is making ready to receive.

our deepest gratitude to Heather and Shanna of First Congregational Church of Los Angeles, who extended such compassion and love to two grieving people, and truly exemplify what it means to be a part of the family of God.

*a week ago, slowly waking from a lucid dream, i saw in my mind a name i didn't recognize, but that still seemed oddly familiar. i couldn't shake it, so i asked the Googles and Wikipedia, which told me that it meant, depending on the language, either "The Third" or "Little Girl." and so i thought: well, i guess that's you, TM3. as for the familiarity? it's one of the few places in the stories of Jesus where the original language was preserved, and so we know when He gently and compassionately saved a family's daughter from death, this is how he addressed her. so now, my third little leap of the gazelle, my little girl, i will always remember you as Talitha.

Week Twelve

well, here we are, almost at the end of that first trimester thingy. some of you have asked if i've gone public with this pregnancy and the answer is no. i think the mark to pass for me, at least, will be this next checkup during Week Thirteen -- Trimester One will be completely over, we'll see the So Tummymuffin Can Dance show on the ultrasound, and maybe then i'll stop wearing loose clothes and show the bump and answer questions.
or maybe not. i don't know; living with the reality of this pregnancy as a "secret" has meant also living with this pregnancy as a quasi-reality. and doing all those things hopeful excited expectant women do doesn't feel yet like my territory. i just need to get there and then i guess i'll know.
i recently wrote to a friend that it is a daily tightrope walk between fear and hope...but so much of life is, i suppose. it can be exhausting way beyond the physical tiredness that i've gotten so used to now. watching my body change as it currently is in the mirror is alternately thrilling -- for all there is to hope for and love and anticipate -- and terrifying -- for all there is to lose, especially because i know that particular route too well. each day there's more to lose. and each day there's so much more to gain.
part of me hopes that passing that first trimester mark with everyone getting a clean bill o' health will perhaps let me feel free to shift this blog back into what it was meant to be three long years ago; a place for the more experienced moms to answer my newbie questions, a happy spot of updates for Tummymuffin's fans, a way of tracking the weeks in a meaningful manner.
in a strange twist, this next checkup will be on the day that Tummymuffin III would have been born. i always wondered what it would be like for me to mark the passing of a child while carrying its sibling; with Isabela and Tim this did not happen. but with the to-be-named TM3 -- it seems almost more difficult to be saying our official goodbyes to her with a full womb rather than an empty one.
i did, in an act of faith today, have husbinator take a photo of me, hand on belly, standing by the dragon in the delightful installation piece by Ai Weiwei currently on display at LACMA, since TM4 will be a water dragon if he/she arrives as scheduled. he said it's just the first of many pregnancy photos we'll take.

Week Eleven

i just want to be happy that i get to finally post an entry with that heading.
*yay*
so i went in for what i thought would just be some screening blood work and got a Bonus Tummymuffin Show -- a fairly comprehensive ultrasound in which i discovered:
-TM4 seems to be constantly moving.
-her/his fingers are super cute.
-apparently when a tiny person smushes his/her face up against the sonogram wand thingy, he/she looks exactly like a tiny luchador.
-it seems that TM4 is already exhibiting genetic traits such as the infamous "Hutchinson Chin" (see this link for a telling photo of direct ancestor).
-perhaps later on i will be bored watching my child's antics, but right now, it's RIVETING.

this week feels like a small island of respite in the lake of blood and fire, for which i'm grateful. i need the naptime...

Week Ten

i'm going to do for you exactly what my delightful ob/gyn does for me: tell you immediately before any details that
IT'S ALL GOOD! or in her words, "WE ARE A+ PERFECT."
okay, now i'll let you all start breathing again. (i can also hear your cheers, which kind of makes me want to cry, and not just because of hormone mood swings.)
given how every appointment, except the very first innocent one almost 3 years ago, is an exercise in Will I See My Tummymuffin or Will I See Doom?, i appreciate her approach. she wastes no time -- pops in the ultrasound wand and immediately declares that all is well, and only after that proceeds to tell me what the smudge means, find the heartbeat, measure the baby, etc.
it was an effort this time, knowing that this was The Week of Doom, to not expect the worst. all of your encouragements and faith-that-i-can't-feel-myself helped me to stay in Possibility Cautious Optimism Mode. which was new. however, i can't lie; when i saw a very large, baby-looking image on that monitor, i had a split second thought: but this can't be my baby. my babies disappear around now. and then i heard my doctor saying: "you've never seen one this big yet, have you?" and reality came back and the overwhelming thought then became: this is happening. this is really happening now. this is what's true.
honestly, before seeing those kicking legs and wiggling arms i could get about as far as thinking about how awesome it would be to write a Week Ten post that was all good news. and now? i can get as far as thinking for more than a few seconds how awesome it would be to actually have a healthy, full-term child without my brain exploding. this is a huge improvement.
the way i see it, perhaps for the people who are blessed with easy conception, pregnancy, and birth, the process of having a baby is like crossing a calm lake on a comfortable ferry: you decide you want to take the trip, so you get on the boat whenever you want to, sail placidly across, and get off on the other side. for me -- and probably for others who struggle with infertility and pregnancy loss -- it's more like commandeering a tiny rowboat in open warfare to cross a wildly heaving lake of blood and fire. sometimes you never even get past finding a damn boat; other times you make it a few meters in when your oars get shot out or the boat capsizes or gets blown up. or maybe you get halfway across when you find out your boat has a slow leak or you almost dock and the land cannons get you.
some of you may be nodding; some of you may be vaguely horrified by my violent imagery, but this is the best way i have of explaining to myself (or others) why i don't know if i can ever fully act like i'm on the comfy ferry. i've wondered many times if or when i'll shift over into believing full-time that i will meet this child, and that he or she will be healthy and well. i know that this is somewhat useless speculation; what matters is my choicefulness on a daily basis in how i'm going to live.
so today i actually went down to the garage and pulled out all the maternity stuff...again. i hauled out all the books that i'd hidden carefully behind the travel guides, and even considered starting the pregnancy journal again, now that i'm into the blank pages of Week 10 and beyond. i even loaded up two pregnancy podcasts and added a pregnancy tracker widget to my iGoogle page.
all that deliberate hopefulness was a bit exhausting, but it felt good. really good.

Week Nine

currently, a very typical conversation:
Person Who Loves Me And Cares About Me: How are you feeling?
Me, Feeling Perpetually Like The Pukey Exhaustion Truck Hit Me: Absolutely terrible.
Loving, Caring Person: THAT'S WONDERFUL!

this gestational diabetes is a blessing in the disguise of No More White Rice, i tell you, because it forces me to eat every two to three hours whether i want to or not. despite rationally knowing the barfy feeling will recede if i just put food in my mouth, it is very hard to otherwise motivate oneself to prepare food when one feels like one has been riding on a tiny boat in very rough seas. speaking of which, my daily blood sugar numbers are apparently pleasing to the Dietician/Nurse Powers That Be, so all is well so far in that arena.
i tried to skip naptime one day and paid dearly for it that evening. after dragging around the house and then flolloping on the couch making small moaning noises, the husbanator appeared with a big giant "10" written on the iPad and said i was totally winning for Utter Patheticness. i laughed so hard i fell off the couch and decided to just go to bed.
besides, naptimes are the one time during the day that i practice loving Tummymuffin IV. not that i don't at other times, but it's way too emotionally fraught to sustain excitement, affection, or even hopefulness without it straying too close to the jagged boundaries of fear and anxiety. but when i'm drifting into that relaxed alpha state, hands cupped over my expanding pelvis, i can let go and love this small person growing inside of me. it helps that i have an image; my thoughtful ob/gyn mailed me the last ultrasound printouts (the printer was broken at the time) and sure enough, there IS a waving arm, absolutely clear. and little froglike proto-legs. it was kind of a game changer to see TM4 so...real baby-like. the joy and pleasure at seeing those images bloomed inside automatically, without any strings attached, and it was relief to know i can still feel that way about a pregnancy, even if just for a few moments.

Week Eight

yeah, you read that right. it's week 8. no one is more surprised than me.
just like with Tummymuffin III, no sooner had i put up that last post, having started the preliminaries for consulting with reproductive endocrinologists and considering our ART options, than i discovered i wasn't having a late period. no one is more surprised than me; i've never gotten pregnant this fast before, and while we had left the door open for it to occur, i truly truly deep down inside did not believe it could happen again without some sort of assistance.
well. huh. how about that.
i've struggled with what to write here, how to write it, and even if to write it at all. i don't want to post sad news here in two weeks after giving you faithful Team Hope people a reason to rejoice. but i also don't want to post any news here, sad or otherwise, in a way that would cut out the most important component of all my pregnancy experiences -- you. a very wise woman pointed out to me that people have indeed felt our loss in the past, and that may keep me feeling hesitant, but they've felt it because they want this for us so much. another very wise woman -- not knowing i had just found out i was expecting again -- wrote some things that encouraged me to keep being transparent with the WHOLE process; not just the "good parts." so. Team Hope. thanks for signing on for another ride.
i'll start with the physical facts. Tummymuffin IV is kicking my butt. i am crazy tired and queasy all the time. i have constant humiliating gas, i've started to smell funny, and none of my pants really fit any more. in other words: All Is Well. the Week Six appointment featured Instant Giant Heartbeat on Ultrasound Screen. this week's appointment featured a waving arm (says my ob/gyn, who can see these things) and a bopping head. in short, TM4 is "perfectly A+ normal." on a side note, this is definitely my husband's child, because TM4 is hanging out in my womb, sucking down all the sugar (s)he can: i already have gestational diabetes. i'm deeply grateful for the coaching from my dear friend who has Type I diabetes; it would've been all too overwhelming otherwise. today when i busted out the finger-poking bits and the glucometer it felt quite normal. and yes, overall, my numbers are fine. at this point, after all we've been through, i'm more than willing to eat on a schedule and give up watermelon and draw blood 4x/day in exchange for more Happy Ultrasound Views.
emotionally -- well hello! welcome to my wild ride, full of hairpin curves and sheer cliff dropoffs! please fasten your seatbelts and for heaven's sake, keep your dang hands inside! yeah, come to the think of it, maybe this is why i feel nauseous most of the time. i wish i could tell you how overjoyed we are and how hopeful, but this would be pointless. all y'all -- as they say in some regions -- know that this is not the case. of course we're happy. of course we're grateful. by the same token, of course we're terrified. of course we're being cautiously optimistic. it's been wonderful for the husbanator to finally -- FINALLY! -- see one of his children's heart beat, and not once, but now twice (various reasons prevented this in all previous pregnancies). but i see his face when he looks at me and i know that even as he wraps his head around what that pulsing smudge on the screen means, he's still mostly concerned about me. and not just because i'm burping like a teenage boy with no control.
i have been very consciously trying to live in the present. what i mean is that it's far too easy to think about all the things that could go wrong today, tomorrow, next week, before Week Ten, before Week Twelve. then it's not a stretch to think about all the potential other pitfalls ahead that could still end this child's life before i ever meet him or her, or simply go wrong at any point. quite frankly, i have neither the energy nor the interest in that vortex of poison. what i am trying to concentrate on is: what do i want to give this baby today? what do i want to know/feel/do/learn/understand today? this moment? how can i simply live right now in the possibility of having a healthy child -- not in the past's crushing disappointments nor in the future's heavy burden of hopeful expectation? i have often thought about how radically different it would be to shift completely and think/feel/live in the assumption that this will be a healthy, normal baby that will actually be carried to term and born and carried and smelled and kissed and shared. i can glimpse what that is like for a split second before reality takes over. every day i practice extending that split second, and it's helping.
meanwhile, as before, i am letting you be the ones who can experience pure excitement and hope and joy for me. you've shared your hope for our family dreams with me no matter if i've been currently pregnant or not. right now, this is enough for me. no. it's more. and as always, i am deeply grateful.

some days

sorry for the silence. i think it’s just that every time i have a post germinating in my head, i just want to take a nap instead.
i’ve mostly been using the last month to let the sweater dry out and not feel so smothered by it, while taming the snake and calming it down. even though i try to think about each pregnancy and each death as a separate, discrete event, the cumulative effect of having three children lost was a weight too heavy to function under. i felt i was someone staggering around the side of the road after a bad wreck, someone who had the same name as me but otherwise not really so recognizable. it wasn’t just “keeping a good face on,” i wasn't going numb, and i didn’t drop out of life. no...i just felt like i was living on the bare surface of me, and that anything else required too much energy. i absolutely didn’t feel like myself; this bruised and smudged-up woman with my name.
therapy and time has been good. the God of love and mercy that i believe in has been good too. the blessing and prayers and encouragement of so many friends & family has been very, very good. but while i might be healing well, the reality of a childless present and future still remains, and i haven’t a clue as to what that’s going to mean, and it is hard to trust oneself from day-to-day.
see, some days it feels like a non-issue: so what if we’re child free and might stay that way? big deal! and some days it feels like the defining issue of my entire existence: who are we supposed to be if we cannot continue our family, if we never are able to grow through this profound human experience called mother & father? however, there are very few days that i do not think about my missing children: how old they would be now, what it might feel like to smell their faces, what they would look like in my own mother’s or husband’s arms.
i find that despite everyone’s best intentions, there is a widening gulf between me and those with children. some of my peers at this point are trying to survive their kid’s puberty while i’m still wondering if i’ll ever get to try breastfeeding. i know this gulf sometimes exists between single and married people, but this one is harder to navigate, i think, because having kids so much more affects every facet of your waking (and not-much-sleeping) life. i don’t want my friends to feel like they have to edit their kids out of answers to “what’s been happening?” and yet their lives at times take on this almost storybook-like patina to me: Once Upon A Time, in the Land of Juice Box Joy and Minivan Acceptance… i don't want us to struggle to remain relevant in one another's lives, and so far so good. but it all comes back to the same feeling: these normal life things happen to other people. they do not happen to me.
today i ordered my medical records, and holy crap it sucked to read the litany of sorrow printed out: “no longer pregnant.” “recurrent spontaneous abortion.” (but i still smiled to see my OB’s now-famous-in-my-head comment: “it is a fine uterus.”) i did this because it’s the first step towards going to consult a reproductive endocrinologist now. yes, i can hear some of you shrieking OH EM GEE YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE THAT 2 YEARS AGO and yes, there are others of you shrieking DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT ROUTE and honestly, my dear Team Hope supporters – i don’t have an effing guess as to how it’s going to go, what’s going to be recommended, what might be necessary. but what i do know is that i at least want to try to get some more answers – yes, this might pose some bigger questions, but let’s face it, i already have plenty of questions.
and they aren’t the ones you might think. i mean, the adoption/assisted reproductive technology (ART)/childfree question has been on the table even before Tummymuffin III’s short life. no, the questions i’m wrestling with are more slippery: why are we parents with no living children? what is truly important here? are we selfish for wanting to have kids? what makes a parent? can we experience the full extent of our lives & our gifts to give without having small ones? will not having kids plant seeds of bitterness that will break soil and poison us years later? or will the journey of having kids do the same thing? why does God give AND take away? and am i willing to receive AND let go?

violin

"I am so glad and grateful, I am; but sometimes the orchestra plays something in swelling chords of luck and joy, and all I can hear is that one violin sawing out a thin melody of grief."

-C. Newman

grounding

right now, where you are sitting: take a moment. feel your feet on the ground. feel your hands on the keyboard, or on your lap. feel your behind in the seat, and your back supported by the chair you're probably sitting in. breathe. feel the space your breath is creating around you. just be aware of where you are in time & space... what you're doing right now is called grounding, and i've been doing a lot of these last few weeks.
we've made an agreement, my wise husband and I, that we would make no decisions about family-building until we both had healed ourselves a little more, through time and love and therapy. we have a regular counselor we've seen since before we were married, and his knowledge of us as individuals and as a couple over a long span of years has built trust and depth that we are grateful for. we are also seeing another counselor who developed a somatically-based model of trauma therapy that she now uses for the benefit of those with PTSD and large-scale disaster survivors, but whose early work was with those who experienced any sort of pre- or neo-natal death.
we've learned a lot in these few weeks, and i've made myself do a lot of "homework." anyone who has been to any amount of counseling will tell you that you can have productive sessions, but if you don't work on your stuff over the time in between, you won't get very far.
the grounding is how i've been starting my "work" times -- whether it be meditation & prayer, journalling, reading related material, etc. it brings me to the present, and anchors me to myself. keeping this awareness of the physicality, and the physical location of my emotions, has been a powerful tool for getting to know the snake and the shadows, and for starting to understand things that have been hidden inside of me. i'm feeling more like "myself" than i have over the last few months, which is both exhausting and liberating.
there's still quite a ways to go, and meanwhile the circumstances of my life aren't exactly the most stable, as i find that this is a season of saying goodbye to parts of my old life & career, and welcoming new opportunities and directions. but i think i found a flashlight and the shadows aren't as menacing.
for those of you who have been sending your love in various ways: cards, e-mails, gifts, declarations of friendship & self-sacrifice: i thank you. you remind me not only that i am not alone, but that i too need to keep reaching out to those who struggle with grief and loss over time, not just when it happens.