And once again, I tap this on my phone. I delivered my boys to a babysitter and am sitting to write this while sipping a delicious coffee from a favorite local shop.
So please excuse typos and spelling errors. Because there will be some of both, I am sure.
Tomorrow is a holiday, a national holiday of remembering our blessings. For work, I looked into the history of Thanksgiving, and I learned some fascinating things.
My post today will not hold quite the fascinating facts, but again, a glimpse into life after.
In October it was a year since we were plunged into the longest waiting game ever.
And on the day before Thanksgiving was when the pain started. I bent to pick up a light laundry basket, I had experienced some light discomfort earlier during the day, and all of the sudden I had sharp pain. I dropped the basket and quickly sat, holding my stomach, unable to sit up.
Just a day or so before had been a doctor appointment, another devastating and emotionally draining visit. At that appointment, hope had again been decimated and the words “no hope” had been applied to my pregnancy, to the fluttery movements of life.
As I called Lamar in tears, I was terrified. Were we going to meet our baby? What was going to happen? Could I do it? Could I say hello and goodbye?
Of all the questions I had, there was one thing I knew: I was not ready.
Lamar told me to the call the doctor and that he would come home if needed.
(I have always prided myself on being quite independent, but my pregnancy with Liam made me much more needy, much less independent.)
I called the doctor and was immediately connected with a nurse. There was no advice other than it could be labor starting. And a bit carelessly she added if I kept going, “I could get it over with” or something along those lines.
I do not love pain. Not in any sense of the word. So I began a period of rest. Because the pain wasn’t just pain. There was the physical pain, emotional pain and this big wall we were staring at.
Many people have remarked on my strength.
There was no strength in me. Anything you saw, that was God. Still is.
Because this journey has easily been one of the hardest I’ve ever walked.
So tomorrow, as I gather with family, around a feast my mother and sisters-in-law have lovingly prepared, it will be different.
There will be no physical pain to smile through. But there will be the emotional pain.
I have come to edge of myself, my will to live has been crushed twice in the last year.
And yet, here I am.
Not because of me. But because of God.
I will sit at a large stretched out table with my family. And together we will eat (so much good food), we will laugh, we will allow our children to eat too much candy and drink sodas, men will nap, maybe even a lady or two. Kids will play and enjoy time with their cousins. It has all the ingredients to be a marvelous and amazing day.
It also has all the ingredients to be a hard and awful day.
While I am grateful for this life and the many, beautiful blessings.
I am also sad. Because so many things have been lost. In the past year, in my lifetime.
And I’m not alone.
There are so many others who also feel these same type of pains as they gather with their loved ones this season.
So understand, I am thankful. I am also sad. I am heartbroken that my wish for a living child, my prayers for a miracle, my desire to be a mother again have all been met with a resounding no. A pain-filled no.
No. No. No. NO.
Two times I’ve been given healthy, amazing boys. And I am grateful for them.
So while you gather tomorrow, and the holidays are considered to have officially arrived, be a little extra kind to someone you know is grieving. Understand that their joyous season also holds great grief.
With Thanksgiving & grief,