It has been a while since I have posted. In this case, no news=bad news. Still no baby.
But thanks to the book I read, I have a few more answers.
I am asking around with my newfound friends for some recommendations for good OB/GYNs. I would like to find someone that: 1) is female. 2) is an advocate for natural birth, and doesn't shrug off fertility awareness. 3) promotes proactive breast health (aka will give me a mammogram at age 32). Nick and I are going to be part of a health network starting in January, which makes me a little nervous about finding a good health practicioner. I am afraid I am going to be stuck at a doctor I don't trust.
In November, it was 2 years since Nick and I started trying to have a baby. We are at the start of year 3. This last year has been very trying, with a lot of stress and life changes. But that hasn't diminished the desire. All of the change has helped to quell the cravings a bit--there are days when I am perfectly content with the life that Nick and I are living right now. But I still have an overwhelming desire to be a mommy.
The problem with moving and making new friends is that I get to deal with all of the questions all over again. "How long have you been married? Do you have kids? Wow--why not? Aren't you trying? Don't you want to have kids? You should try not trying--as soon as you don't try, it will happen."
It was nice in Ohio to have the people closest to me KNOW how hard it has been for me, and to just not ask. Or, at least to be able to ask in a more...discreet? subtle? kind? tactful way. People mean well, and so I patiently answer their questions.
My friends Josh and Tami have been patiently waiting for approval in their adoption process for a year now. They are on the waiting list for a baby boy from Ethiopia, and the adoption process is extremely slow-moving, to put it lightly. The yearning that they express on their blog so often mirrors the yearning that I feel. On their one year DTE date (DTE means Dossier To Ethiopia--basically the home stretch), they posted an article that someone had written about what the waiting process was like, and how to support people in it. Here is a link to the full article, but I really appreciated these sentiments, and I think I'll end today with them.
"Just
kind, normal words of encouragement. Not the kind that assume we are
one breath away from atheism. Not the kind that attempt to minimize the
difficulties and tidy it all up with catchphrases. We don’t actually need for you to fix our wait.
We just want you to be our friend and acknowledge that the process is
hard and you care about us while we’re hurting. That is GOLD.
"When
you say you’re praying for us and our waiting children, and you
actually really are, not only does that soothe our troubled souls, but
according to Scripture, it activates the heavens. So pray on, dear
friends. Pray on. That is always the right thing to say. And please
actually do it. We need people to stand in the gap for us when we are
too tired and discouraged to keep praying the same words another day."
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Fertility Book
So that book that I bought?
Completely eye-opening.
Why did I never know some of this stuff before? It actually kind of irritates me.
It certainly wasn't covered in the books that my "marital counseling classes" had me read. In fact, we pretty much skipped the whole sex thing as a whole (which is another story for another day).
But as I am reading it, I feel like I am learning all this stuff for the first time. And I am a freaking 32-year old. Grr.
But anyways.
I really feel more empowered. Learning specifically about how my cycle works. How you can track your ovulation by your body's natural signs, and know exactly when you ovulate (without having to spend $40/month on ovulation predictor tests).
Of course, with this knowledge also comes some responsibility.
For example, my chart isn't showing things that "normal" charts should be showing.
Which means I need to find a new doctor here, fast.
Now, some of what I am seeing could be a result of travel. But not all of it.
But now that I am aware of what I should be seeing, it makes it much easier for me to go to the doctor and show HER (NO MORE men gynos) exactly what is going on. I feel much more empowered about my own body, and what is going on.
Why didn't I read this before???
Completely eye-opening.
Why did I never know some of this stuff before? It actually kind of irritates me.
It certainly wasn't covered in the books that my "marital counseling classes" had me read. In fact, we pretty much skipped the whole sex thing as a whole (which is another story for another day).
But as I am reading it, I feel like I am learning all this stuff for the first time. And I am a freaking 32-year old. Grr.
But anyways.
I really feel more empowered. Learning specifically about how my cycle works. How you can track your ovulation by your body's natural signs, and know exactly when you ovulate (without having to spend $40/month on ovulation predictor tests).
Of course, with this knowledge also comes some responsibility.
For example, my chart isn't showing things that "normal" charts should be showing.
Which means I need to find a new doctor here, fast.
Now, some of what I am seeing could be a result of travel. But not all of it.
But now that I am aware of what I should be seeing, it makes it much easier for me to go to the doctor and show HER (NO MORE men gynos) exactly what is going on. I feel much more empowered about my own body, and what is going on.
Why didn't I read this before???
Friday, September 16, 2011
Family relations
I am writing this here, because I have limited access to this page for just a certain few (hi, btw), so I know the people I am writing about won't be able to read it. But I have so many thoughts running through my head that I can't get out, and writing it always helps. This entry might not make much sense. It is definitely stream-of-consciousness, and I don't think it has a conclusion.
Mom was a planner. But there were a lot of things that my mom didn't plan on.
Getting cancer. Getting leukemia. Dying so quickly.
Those were probably her top 3.
But I am sure that if she could talk to me right now, she'd probably add "Allison estranged from family" as something she didn't plan on, either.
Since the funeral, I have talked to my mom's sister twice, and my grandpa once. These conversations have been very stilted and formal. All of the familial bond is broken, and we have resorted to polite pleasantries.
Why?
Because apparently I didn't follow the "rules" that you are supposed to follow when one of your parents is dying.
(wait. I said to myself that I would try not to be hostile. So let me rephrase.)
Because I screwed up.
About a week before mom passed away, I posted a picture on my Facebook account. Everyone knew that my mom didn't have much time left. But I posted this picture anyway. I posted it because it was how I wanted to remember my mom and dad. They didn't always have the easiest time. And the last few weeks were incredibly hard. But I love every single thing about the photo. I didn't see how my mom looked. I saw how my dad looked at her. And I knew that it was probably the best way to explain to people exactly what was going on, and how perfectly God was working in our family (within the context of one of the worst situations possible).
I did not anticipate that it was the thing that would finally push me over the "edge" with my mom's dad and sister.
Since my mom's decision to come off of treatments, I was making them very upset. She was going downhill quickly, and I wasn't doing things the right way. Nick and I went to Puerto Rico (we were shooting a wedding). It was an incredibly painful decision to go, but I knew that mom would want me to go, since she had told me that herself. She was not the same person when I returned--it was amazing how quickly she deteriorated. I was told by another family member that "I should not have gone" to Puerto Rico.
When I came back, I did what I could when I was at mom and dad's, but I was also working and training for a marathon--both things that mom was very excited about.
The last week, I tried to be as available as possible. I came after school every night, and stayed late. My classroom performance certainly suffered, but I was doing what I could. I will admit, there were a lot of times when I felt very helpless. The process of watching someone die goes through different waves, some of which are much harder to deal with than others.
I was not there every day for the doctor visits. I was not there to give her baths and change her clothes. I was not there when they brought the hospital bed into the kitchen, and when she cried knowing that people would see her in it. And I have to deal with that every day. But at the time, I was doing what I felt was the right thing. My sister had been able to come up for the time I was in PR, and she came up for a long weekend after that, as well. My mom's best friend, and my dad, and her sister and her dad were there, so I felt like she was in good hands, and I could go work.
Not everyone felt that way.
When I returned from Puerto Rico, mom didn't have much time left (she died a little over a week after I got back), so I wanted to be as involved as possible. I tried to be proactive, since I hadn't been able to do much before that. Instead of being helpful, I was seen as trying to "take over".
Then I was scolded about the photo. I had "embarrassed the family". I knew how my mom felt about her looks, and "she would be so ashamed" that people were seeing her that way. And I "should apologize to her."
....
Since that night, I have not been able to relate to my aunt and grandpa. At the funeral, They told Ashley, "You did such a good job with your mom. Not Allison, but you."
All of what they have said has just reinforced the guilt I feel over having not been there for my mom at the end. I was there, at her bedside, when she slipped away from this earth. But it wasn't enough. I had screwed up too much. I wasn't there for the daily doctor's visits...
I don't even know where I am going with this. But I am just SO ANGRY. I cannot get over what they said to me. I cannot get past it. Every time I see them, I feel it again and again. I didn't do the right things or say the right things. I might be projecting what I think they are feeling, but I haven't had any communication with them at all, so I don't know if anything has changed.
I saw them both when I went back to Ohio. I didn't make extra plans to see them, I saw them when I saw the whole family on my last Sunday there. This is mainly because I don't want to see them. I don't want to talk about all the things we probably should talk about. I don't want them to bring up how I failed my mom, or disappointed the family, or them. I don't want them to ask how many times I have been to mom's gravesite (because I haven't been at all). I don't want them to bring up the picture.
I don't want to do any of it because of the open wound that still exists. I now take everything they say, and run it through some crazy filter. Like they are attacking me all the time, or making pointed remarks. My grandpa was holding my cousin's baby, and when I went up to say hi to them, the baby turned his head. My grandpa said, "Yeah, I'd turn away from her, too." And I automatically run that through this they-hate-me-still filter, and it just makes me angry.
It's like the process of watching my mom die is this open wound. And the feelings of my aunt and my grandpa are lemon juice that was poured on top. And after it all was over, I put a band-aid on top so I couldn't see the wound. But putting a band-aid on it didn't help--it just means it hasn't healed. And every time I see them, or think about them, the band-aid is taken off and lemon juice is poured over it again.
I can deal with my mom dying. I can deal with moving. I can deal with not having a baby yet. I can deal with not having any friends. I can deal with some of my family being mad at me. But not all of them at the same time. I can't deal with that.
Which is why there is still lemon juice.
Mom was a planner. But there were a lot of things that my mom didn't plan on.
Getting cancer. Getting leukemia. Dying so quickly.
Those were probably her top 3.
But I am sure that if she could talk to me right now, she'd probably add "Allison estranged from family" as something she didn't plan on, either.
Since the funeral, I have talked to my mom's sister twice, and my grandpa once. These conversations have been very stilted and formal. All of the familial bond is broken, and we have resorted to polite pleasantries.
Why?
(wait. I said to myself that I would try not to be hostile. So let me rephrase.)
Because I screwed up.
About a week before mom passed away, I posted a picture on my Facebook account. Everyone knew that my mom didn't have much time left. But I posted this picture anyway. I posted it because it was how I wanted to remember my mom and dad. They didn't always have the easiest time. And the last few weeks were incredibly hard. But I love every single thing about the photo. I didn't see how my mom looked. I saw how my dad looked at her. And I knew that it was probably the best way to explain to people exactly what was going on, and how perfectly God was working in our family (within the context of one of the worst situations possible).
I did not anticipate that it was the thing that would finally push me over the "edge" with my mom's dad and sister.
Since my mom's decision to come off of treatments, I was making them very upset. She was going downhill quickly, and I wasn't doing things the right way. Nick and I went to Puerto Rico (we were shooting a wedding). It was an incredibly painful decision to go, but I knew that mom would want me to go, since she had told me that herself. She was not the same person when I returned--it was amazing how quickly she deteriorated. I was told by another family member that "I should not have gone" to Puerto Rico.
When I came back, I did what I could when I was at mom and dad's, but I was also working and training for a marathon--both things that mom was very excited about.
The last week, I tried to be as available as possible. I came after school every night, and stayed late. My classroom performance certainly suffered, but I was doing what I could. I will admit, there were a lot of times when I felt very helpless. The process of watching someone die goes through different waves, some of which are much harder to deal with than others.
I was not there every day for the doctor visits. I was not there to give her baths and change her clothes. I was not there when they brought the hospital bed into the kitchen, and when she cried knowing that people would see her in it. And I have to deal with that every day. But at the time, I was doing what I felt was the right thing. My sister had been able to come up for the time I was in PR, and she came up for a long weekend after that, as well. My mom's best friend, and my dad, and her sister and her dad were there, so I felt like she was in good hands, and I could go work.
Not everyone felt that way.
When I returned from Puerto Rico, mom didn't have much time left (she died a little over a week after I got back), so I wanted to be as involved as possible. I tried to be proactive, since I hadn't been able to do much before that. Instead of being helpful, I was seen as trying to "take over".
Then I was scolded about the photo. I had "embarrassed the family". I knew how my mom felt about her looks, and "she would be so ashamed" that people were seeing her that way. And I "should apologize to her."
....
Since that night, I have not been able to relate to my aunt and grandpa. At the funeral, They told Ashley, "You did such a good job with your mom. Not Allison, but you."
All of what they have said has just reinforced the guilt I feel over having not been there for my mom at the end. I was there, at her bedside, when she slipped away from this earth. But it wasn't enough. I had screwed up too much. I wasn't there for the daily doctor's visits...
I don't even know where I am going with this. But I am just SO ANGRY. I cannot get over what they said to me. I cannot get past it. Every time I see them, I feel it again and again. I didn't do the right things or say the right things. I might be projecting what I think they are feeling, but I haven't had any communication with them at all, so I don't know if anything has changed.
I saw them both when I went back to Ohio. I didn't make extra plans to see them, I saw them when I saw the whole family on my last Sunday there. This is mainly because I don't want to see them. I don't want to talk about all the things we probably should talk about. I don't want them to bring up how I failed my mom, or disappointed the family, or them. I don't want them to ask how many times I have been to mom's gravesite (because I haven't been at all). I don't want them to bring up the picture.
I don't want to do any of it because of the open wound that still exists. I now take everything they say, and run it through some crazy filter. Like they are attacking me all the time, or making pointed remarks. My grandpa was holding my cousin's baby, and when I went up to say hi to them, the baby turned his head. My grandpa said, "Yeah, I'd turn away from her, too." And I automatically run that through this they-hate-me-still filter, and it just makes me angry.
It's like the process of watching my mom die is this open wound. And the feelings of my aunt and my grandpa are lemon juice that was poured on top. And after it all was over, I put a band-aid on top so I couldn't see the wound. But putting a band-aid on it didn't help--it just means it hasn't healed. And every time I see them, or think about them, the band-aid is taken off and lemon juice is poured over it again.
I can deal with my mom dying. I can deal with moving. I can deal with not having a baby yet. I can deal with not having any friends. I can deal with some of my family being mad at me. But not all of them at the same time. I can't deal with that.
Which is why there is still lemon juice.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
A Letter to Baby - August 10, 2011
Dear Baby,
I think of you all the time. I know that right now, you’re just a glimmer in our eyes, but I think of you just the same.
I wonder what you will look like. I hope you have blonde hair and blue eyes like your daddy, and you have my smile. I also secretly hope you don’t end up goofy-looking. Yes, your mommy is superficial sometimes.
I wonder if you will be a boy or a girl. This is funny because I really think that we will have a boy. After all, Waltons make boys. I think of names for you a lot. The names are usually girl names. I want to be able to have your name be unique, but not too weird. Harper Leigh, Bristow Jeanne, Felicity, Maire. There are a lot of names that I like, but students have ruined for me. This is a common teacher problem. When I was younger, I really liked the name Austin. But you won’t be an Austin anymore.
I thought you would be here by now. Daddy and I have been trying really hard for 20 months to make you. Sometimes, I put a pillow under my shirt to see what I would look like pregnant. But then I realize that it’s not good for my heart to think about things too much, and I take it out. God knows why we are waiting, so I will try to guard my heart more.
Today would have been your Nana and Papa's 37th anniversary. Your Nana wanted to meet you so badly. We were hoping you would come before she went to Heaven, but God wanted her to come home before she could ever meet you. I know that she can see you now--I must admit that I am jealous, because she gets to see you before I do.
I’ll be honest: sometimes, I am glad that you are waiting so long to come into our lives. There are times when it is nice to not have a child to worry about. This is because I am selfish. I like my independence and freedom. But this part of me wars with the other part of me. The part that yearns for the day you will come into my life. You will fill up this empty spot inside of me.
Want to know a secret? I have bought you some things already. I have a poster for your room, and some books, and some onesies. Sometimes I will see things that I know will look absolutely adorable on you, so I buy them. I keep them tucked away in a closet until the day I can bring them out to share with you.
I hope I get to meet you soon. I am trying my best right now to make a good home for you—one that you’ll want to get cozy in for 9 months. And your daddy is getting more and more anxious to know that you are here, too. You are going to have the best daddy in the world, do you know that?
Come soon, baby.
I love you,
Mommy
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
From "One Day" (part two)
"These days, grief seems like walking on a frozen river; most of the time he feels safe enough, but there is always that danger that he will plunge through. Now he hears the ice creak beneath him, and so intense and panicking is the sensation that he has to stand for a moment, press his hands to his face and catch his breath."
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
From "One Day"
Since this blog is much more personal, I thought I would post this here. An excerpt from "One Day", by David Nicholls. Dexter is speaking, who is confronting his mother's passing away from cancer (inferred):
"He had always imagined that some sort of emotional mental equipment was meant to arrive, when he was forty-five, say, or fifty, a kind of kit that would enable him to deal with the impending loss of a parent. If he were only in possession of this equipment, he would be just fine. He would be noble and selfless, wise and philosophical. Perhaps he might even have kids of his own, and would presumably possess the maturity that comes with fatherhood, the understanding of life as a process.
But he isn't forty-five, he is twenty-eight years old. His mother is forty-nine. There has been some terrible mistake, the timing is out, and how can he possibly be expected to deal with this, the sight of his extraordinary mother diminishing like this?"
"He had always imagined that some sort of emotional mental equipment was meant to arrive, when he was forty-five, say, or fifty, a kind of kit that would enable him to deal with the impending loss of a parent. If he were only in possession of this equipment, he would be just fine. He would be noble and selfless, wise and philosophical. Perhaps he might even have kids of his own, and would presumably possess the maturity that comes with fatherhood, the understanding of life as a process.
But he isn't forty-five, he is twenty-eight years old. His mother is forty-nine. There has been some terrible mistake, the timing is out, and how can he possibly be expected to deal with this, the sight of his extraordinary mother diminishing like this?"
Monday, August 1, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Happy Mother's Day
To you who have aching arms and hearts just waiting to be blessed with little scampering feet...
To you who have said goodbye way too soon to tiny angels and grieve this day...
To you who have mother's in heaven but none on earth...
To you who have given your child to another to raise because of your deep love...
I miss you, mom.
Monday, February 14, 2011
I. Can't. Take. It. Anymore.
I thought we had done really well last month. We did things at the right times. I even felt like I could tell when I was ovulating, which I have never been able to do before.
Nope. Damn period came yesterday.
And then today a good friend told us she's having twins. And showed us the video where they were kicking. I'm pretty sure my ovaries did a flip.
Mom is wasting away. Please, God, please. I just want to tell her she's going to be a grandma. Am I going to have to resort to lying to my dying mother???
I thought we had done really well last month. We did things at the right times. I even felt like I could tell when I was ovulating, which I have never been able to do before.
Nope. Damn period came yesterday.
And then today a good friend told us she's having twins. And showed us the video where they were kicking. I'm pretty sure my ovaries did a flip.
Mom is wasting away. Please, God, please. I just want to tell her she's going to be a grandma. Am I going to have to resort to lying to my dying mother???
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Who knew I would be so....intuitive?
Two weeks ago, I wrote about how my mom wouldn't get to meet her grandkids. And this week, mom let us know that she is stopping treatments. The doctor has given her around 2-4 months.
A couple of months ago, mom started an experimental, just-approved-by-the-FDA type of treatment. Mom was informed that this was basically the last type of treatment that they had for her to do. Well, it wasn't working, and was in fact shutting down her liver functions, as well as other horrible side-effects.
When mom was diagnosed with leukemia in January, my aunt asked her if she would get to a point when she would decide that enough was enough. If she would know when it was time to end treatment. At that point, she knew that it wasn't time. However, now she decided that it is time.
Two weeks ago, I wrote about how my mom wouldn't get to meet her grandkids. And this week, mom let us know that she is stopping treatments. The doctor has given her around 2-4 months.
A couple of months ago, mom started an experimental, just-approved-by-the-FDA type of treatment. Mom was informed that this was basically the last type of treatment that they had for her to do. Well, it wasn't working, and was in fact shutting down her liver functions, as well as other horrible side-effects.
When mom was diagnosed with leukemia in January, my aunt asked her if she would get to a point when she would decide that enough was enough. If she would know when it was time to end treatment. At that point, she knew that it wasn't time. However, now she decided that it is time.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Sad Times
Mom was diagnosed with leukemia a year ago this past week. A year ago I was hearing the diagnosis that I might not see my mom past 6 months to a year, and yet she is still here. Once again, as she has for the past 21 years, she has defied the odds and survived a diagnosis of death.
But it is bittersweet. She is not the same woman she used to be. She has lost a significant amount of weight. She is in the hospital around 20 hours each week. The joy and the hope that emanated from every part of who she is has diminished. She is tired of fighting. She has battled cancer and death for over 20 years, and she is slowly losing the fight.
Even as I type it, it seems unreal. I have never known cancer to win. My mom was born a fighter. An unbending wall of strength and determination. Even as her body shuts down against her wishes, she still says she is going to fight, because "I have things to do".
I am not blind to the "thing" she has to do. She wants to be a grandma. More than she will ever admit to me, she wants to be able to hold her grandchild in her arms. She wants to sing songs like she did to Ashley and I. She wants to run her hands down the baby's face and soothe it to sleep with her sweet words. She wants to feel that unending love of a grandma that cannot be expressed unless you have been one. All of her friends are grandmas, and she wants in The Club.
And I am unable to do this for her. For whatever the reason, I have not been able to do this one thing that she wants more than anything in the world.
My entire life, I have gotten everything I have ever needed, and most of what I wanted (with the exception on the pink wallpaper that I wanted to disappear forever, and the jr. high dances I desperately wanted to attend). And the one thing that my mom wants more than anything I am unable to give her.
I was hoping, shortly after the diagnosis, that I would be able to get pregnant right away. We had been trying for a few months, and I knew that it would happen soon. That my baby would give my mom reason to fight even harder against the inevitability. But as the year has passed, my struggle to conceive has mirrored her struggle against cancer.
I see my mom's broken body, and weary spirit. I see her struggle to continue, when she has so much that she is unable to do anymore. She is starting to acknowledge that she has dreams that she may never see realized.
If I were to get pregnant next month, we would have the baby in October (I know I am not pregnant now--stupid period started 2 days ago). I spent Monday evening just spending time with my mom, and I came to realize something: she might not make it that long.
In my wildest dreams, I never anticipated the possibility of having a baby without my mom around. I know I would not be the first--I have heard many who have not had grandparents in their lives. But I never thought that would be me. I probably should not have been so naive.
I wish I could describe the torrent of emotions accurately. Devastation, sadness (which is such a weak word), grief, fear, heartache, and also anger, regret, and guilt. I know in my head that waiting was a good thing for Nick and I. I know in my head that you never have a baby for your parents or for someone else. But in my heart, I desperately wish that I were able to give my mom this gift. After all that she has given me, to be able to give her the gift of a life. I feel like it would not only be a miracle baby for us, but it would also give her a miracle gift--an extra shot in the arm of hope and determination to fight again.
This entry doesn't necessarily have a point. But I guess what I'm learning through this journey is that it doesn't always have to have a point. As my friend Erin pointed out, someday I am going to want to know exactly what I was feeling at this point in my life. My future child will want to know.
And right now, this is what I am feeling.
But it is bittersweet. She is not the same woman she used to be. She has lost a significant amount of weight. She is in the hospital around 20 hours each week. The joy and the hope that emanated from every part of who she is has diminished. She is tired of fighting. She has battled cancer and death for over 20 years, and she is slowly losing the fight.
Even as I type it, it seems unreal. I have never known cancer to win. My mom was born a fighter. An unbending wall of strength and determination. Even as her body shuts down against her wishes, she still says she is going to fight, because "I have things to do".
I am not blind to the "thing" she has to do. She wants to be a grandma. More than she will ever admit to me, she wants to be able to hold her grandchild in her arms. She wants to sing songs like she did to Ashley and I. She wants to run her hands down the baby's face and soothe it to sleep with her sweet words. She wants to feel that unending love of a grandma that cannot be expressed unless you have been one. All of her friends are grandmas, and she wants in The Club.
And I am unable to do this for her. For whatever the reason, I have not been able to do this one thing that she wants more than anything in the world.
My entire life, I have gotten everything I have ever needed, and most of what I wanted (with the exception on the pink wallpaper that I wanted to disappear forever, and the jr. high dances I desperately wanted to attend). And the one thing that my mom wants more than anything I am unable to give her.
I was hoping, shortly after the diagnosis, that I would be able to get pregnant right away. We had been trying for a few months, and I knew that it would happen soon. That my baby would give my mom reason to fight even harder against the inevitability. But as the year has passed, my struggle to conceive has mirrored her struggle against cancer.
I see my mom's broken body, and weary spirit. I see her struggle to continue, when she has so much that she is unable to do anymore. She is starting to acknowledge that she has dreams that she may never see realized.
If I were to get pregnant next month, we would have the baby in October (I know I am not pregnant now--stupid period started 2 days ago). I spent Monday evening just spending time with my mom, and I came to realize something: she might not make it that long.
In my wildest dreams, I never anticipated the possibility of having a baby without my mom around. I know I would not be the first--I have heard many who have not had grandparents in their lives. But I never thought that would be me. I probably should not have been so naive.
I wish I could describe the torrent of emotions accurately. Devastation, sadness (which is such a weak word), grief, fear, heartache, and also anger, regret, and guilt. I know in my head that waiting was a good thing for Nick and I. I know in my head that you never have a baby for your parents or for someone else. But in my heart, I desperately wish that I were able to give my mom this gift. After all that she has given me, to be able to give her the gift of a life. I feel like it would not only be a miracle baby for us, but it would also give her a miracle gift--an extra shot in the arm of hope and determination to fight again.
This entry doesn't necessarily have a point. But I guess what I'm learning through this journey is that it doesn't always have to have a point. As my friend Erin pointed out, someday I am going to want to know exactly what I was feeling at this point in my life. My future child will want to know.
And right now, this is what I am feeling.
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