Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Letting go-

I don't like who I've become in some ways. I am bitter all the time, I'm bitter about being bitter. I hate hiding in my own little world, wailing with grief all the time. But, I've also become a stronger person. I am more resilient in some ways. I am more assertive, I don't take anything at face value.

Infertility is always going to be a part of who I am, there is no doubt about that. Nothing can erase what I've went through- a baby will not make me forget the sleepless nights of agony, the failure after failure. There is no cure for this, there is nothing that can erase the past. I have to find a way to live with it, whether or not I ever arrive at my desired destination.

Tonight I began letting go of the idea of having a biological child. I began letting go of the idea of ever having a baby. I started boxing up all the baby things I collected with each pregnancy, each symbol of hope that I clung to in desperation. It just got hard knowing they were in there, accessible in case I wanted to touch them. Seeing them everyday, and knowing what I've lost.

I looked at my book shelves, and saw a story laid out before me. And I cried. Trying to conceive books, blending into infertility books, into pregnancy loss books, and giving way to adoption books. I thought about the pregnancy books, which I wouldn't even allow on my bookshelves. Instead they stay put, hidden, in the armoire in my bedroom. The constant elephant in the room. It broke my heart.

And something snapped.

I began tearing them from the shelves, and each book hefted with it a pent up memory. The first pregnancy book I had bought, so naively, believing that it would be easy. The second one, because I wanted multiple sources of information. Tearing, and tearing, pieces of my heart. I placed them in a pile, and moved on. Next, the infertility books... many so useless to me now. Each one bought, believing it would have the answers. Each one, cleaving to it a piece of hope. I left a few, because they weren't about treatments- they were about coping with this vile disease. Then I saw what remained, and knew I couldn't part with them- not yet.

Weeded down, I am left with books on coping, books on dealing with grief, coping with baby-loss, books on adopting, books on raising an adopted child, and the original books that are too heavy with memory to let go yet.

The box of baby stuff will find it's way to the attic, where I won't have to look at it anymore. Not unless I want to. The books are destined for the thrift store, into another's arms.

Each absence took with it a memory, which I will always keep, but I will no longer be reminded of on a daily basis. Each book a part of my existence now.

I'm letting go. April makes three years since we started this journey- three years and three miscarriages later, I'm ready for it to end. I need it to end.

I can't keep living on impossible dreams.

This isn't the end, it's simply the beginning of letting go.

We're still going to get the laproscopy, still get the SHG and ovarian drilling... but I refuse to have faith in them. They are just another step in the process of letting go- knowing I did everything I could.

Where am I going from here- I don't know yet. We are planning, we're going to save money for adoption, keep moving along. I am just tired of putting everything on hold for an impossible dream. I'm tried of feeling stagnant, feeling trapped, feeling desperate, feeling angry, feeling bitter. I'm just tired.

Three years is a long time to keep going through hell.
Especially when there's no end in sight.

13 comments:

WiseGuy said...

I am so sorry that it had to come to this.

Hugs.

AMC said...

I am so sorry for all of your struggles and the agony you have been through. A beautiful post and though I haven't "been there" I understand your feelings. Best to you.

Kristin said...

Oh honey, IF takes you on a ride through hell. I hope this process of letting go is the beginning of your ride back out of hell.

{{{Hugs}}}

Kristin said...

I hope it didn't eat my response. {{{Hugs}}}

biojen said...

I'm here from LFCA offering big ((HUGS)) if you want them, or vodka, if you are so inclined. I'm sorry you are going through this.

CeCe said...

It sounds like you are taking an important step. I recently read something about letting go that really resonanted with me:

"In time, you will discover that letting go frees you to initiate the healing process and allows you to once again celebrate the possibility of the more wonderful life you deserve."

I am sorry for the difficult past 3 years that you have experienced and am hoping for all the best for you.

The Steadfast Warrior said...

What a moment for you. I'm sorry you have to make sucha a difficult and painful decision. I hope that in letting go a little bit, you can find yourself again.

Plus Size Bride said...

I'm sorry. Big virtual hug being sent your way.....

MK said...

I'm glad you can hopefully start healing now. But...I don't feel this is the end for you. I wouldn't be surprised in the least to see a picture of you with your own biological child in your arms someday. I've seen it happen so many times. I believe it can happen for anyone. I CLING to the thought that it can happen even for me.

MK said...

I gave you an award on my blog. :)

PFM said...

I remember similar feelings. Three years is a very long time. The losses seem to pile on top of one another and there is a tipping point. With packing things away I hope you can find some peace. Thinking of you.

MrsSpock said...

I went through a period where I had to pack everything up and put it away. Even after I finally became pregnant, those things felt tainted with bad memories. The only thing I ended up keeping from those years of hope and grief was a stuffed bear that is now my son's, and it still reminds me of the times I hugged it while crying.

Hugs to you...

janis said...

I'm so sorry it has been so rough. ((hugs)) I wish things could have been way different.