My 5 year blogging anniversary (blogoversary?) has come and gone without a single blip on this page from me. I had started a post with the intention to celebrate all this space has done for me, but much like everything this summer, it was interrupted by a fast forward schedule and a very fast forward preschooler, interruptions I desperately longed for when I began this blog. And quite honestly, I like to come on here only when I have a clear message to share, when I feel like I have some (even partially formed) conclusion, but this just isn't the case lately.
Grief is a funny thing. It's never static. Whether you are moving forward or back, you are always moving, and sometimes it's not in the right direction. And, yes, it is possible to move backwards with grief, even when it seems you had the processed the crap out of a situation. Such is the story of my life. You feel strong one day, and the next, not so much.
My last post reads like I was moving forward, and I was, at that time. Presently, I am finding acceptance of my infertility much, much harder to handle. I feel more hopeless and desperate than I have for many months. I want another child to the depth of my core, but I can't have one. Or I can, but how? But then I look at my son and think, OK, maybe I can do this. One is fine. And then I remember that I have more room in my arms and slip backwards.
Some days the loss of my Mother is like a feather on my heart and on others, such as today, the ache is so heavy only tears can chip into it. I've been feeling her absence more heavily, too, as I've been cleaning out the garage and finally rifling through all of her pictures and documents. When I comb through the cards and keepsakes, I miss her so much I can hardly breathe.
I can't quite figure out where I am. Am I doing OK or not? Well, I guess it depends on the day.
Today my conclusion to share is that I have no conclusion. And for a girl who has to resist looking at the ending of a book before she's barely past the beginning, you can imagine how much energy I'm spending in accepting this nebulous, grey future I have before me. There is no spreadsheet, no pick-your-own-ending. It's a game of chance. It always is, but it's getting harder to trick myself into thinking the opposite.