My heart is heavy tonight, another down from the up. I have desired, have struggled, have waited, have loved, have lost. The past thirty-three months have been a trial I still can not fathom. I have conceived three times, three times had the rug ripped out from under my feet before we even had a chance to feel some joy in it. And now, now there is nothing.
Some days, the bad days, I feel like ghosts are closing in. They are filling my house, every breath I take is filled with dead air and broken dreams. My lost babies, my lost future, so much loss.
Some days, the good days, I feel fine. I can do more than survive, I can be truly happy with where I am. I can laugh without restraint. I can take the joy in and savor it.
I don't always write about those days, because I let myself enjoy them to their fullest. Or rather, I try to lose myself in those moments of happiness.
On the bad days, I write. I write it out, let loose these ghosts within me. And it helps me, because who else do I have to acknowledge this pain to? I write occasional lines on f.ac.eboo.k to remind people that life is still not normal for me, because they tend to forget. But usually, acknowledging the pain makes them act strangely. Either they ignore it, or they ask what's wrong or make a comment that is inappropriate. Asking what's wrong upsets me, because I can't put it into words for them to understand if they don't already. The inappropriate comments do the same, because I know that while some people can understand on some small level, no one other than those of us unfortunate to go through this actually get it. I can't acknowledge it in real life, because people get uncomfortable. I still do though, and I keep hoping they'll realize that saying "I'm here for you," is better than silence, but they never realize.
The holidays are especially hard. My last living grandmother passed away a few weeks after my first miscarriage. That was two years ago. I've lost two more babies since then. I miss my grandmas, I miss my babies, and the holidays only extenuate those loses. Because this is a time for family, and so many pieces of my family are not here.
I can look back and remember the holidays with my grandmas, and I can hold on to those so clearly for now. My close grandma, I remember best in her kitchen as we shared our odd food tendencies we shared that no one else in the family did. I can remember her being so happy to buy me that stupid doll, and how I made sure she didn't realize I thought it was stupid- because it was a tradition to get each granddaughter that doll. She was so excited, and seeing her happy was all I needed that year. That is what made me smile as I took it out of the wrapping, that it made her happy. I remember afternoons sitting on the porch with her, as she smoked her unfiltered cigarettes. How she told me she loved my drawings, something my mother never bothered with at that point- by then, she was just telling me 'that's nice' without turning her head to look. I miss grandma most at Christmas-time, miss her gray hair and crooked arm, her love she had for all her children, and all her grandchildren, and all the great-grandchildren, and the great-great-grandchildren. She bought for us all, even though there had to be over a hundred of us in total. She knew us all. She bought me extra because she knew my father wouldn't. Because she loved me. I wish I had more time with her- I didn't even meet her until I was about ten.
My babies... I have nothing. A memory of home pregnancy tests and blood draws. Painful cramps, cervical pain, contractions, six hours of hell with the second one. The sac, that beautiful, wretched, gestational sac. The furthest I ever made, the only ultrasound where I actually got to see something. The only miscarriage where I saw what was meant to be my baby, as I passed it. There is no joy for me to hold onto here, no fond memories. I mourn the loss they represent, and that there is nothing more. I miss them in ways I can't explain. I mourn that there were no more memories, that there were no happy ones, that the only things I have to hold onto are so fragile. That no one else can remember with me, except my husband and a handful of people, and those who read this blog.
So many people remember my grandparents.
So few remember, or acknowledge, my babies.
I wanted something so much, with every fiber of my being. I wanted it so badly my heart sang with desire. And then... and then... there was loss after loss. My heart sings no more, it whimpers.
This post is disjointed and on the verge of rambling, I'm sure. I kinda feel like that though. Disjointed.