You cannot live through this and see the world the same way. You have a “bereaved parent” filter now, and it’s hard to believe it will ever be lifted from what’s in front of you. That new viewpoint is part of the overarching lesson… in keeping priorities aligned, realizing what’s worth worrying about and what isn’t (with far more now in the latter category), and hoping that I will be a wiser, more compassionate person as I continue on. After all, as Ryan says, we are both still here. It’s shocking that I need that reminder sometimes, but I do. Some people even say I’ll be a better mom now, and that may well be true. However, it is not a step anyone would volunteer to take on the path to parenthood. And I would have been a good mom without it.
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| Another version of two paths: Hometown, California… |
It is a step toward a different kind of parenthood because it is a step forward without Lorenzo. I’ve written before about the alternate reality — the one where my ultrasound on May 28 shows us a healthy heart — and we continue on with stroller shopping and nursery organizing and I finish writing a novel about grief, as if I have any idea what I’m talking about. Two months out, I’m realizing that it’s not just one fork in the path. It’s not simply the “with” or “without” Lorenzo path. So many things stem from that division and continue to determine a different kind of future.For instance, the novel I’m writing no longer makes sense. I did finally take it out of the box last week, feeling ready to do what’s needed to make it true. But I don’t see the nearly finished book I put down a few months ago. I see a giant mess and I’m not sure if that’s the depression or trust-worthy judgment talking. Much has clarified itself recently in my world, but I can’t assess how that clarity is at work in the world of this novel. Regardless, I can’t look at it without the filter on. In the meantime, my document about Lorenzo has doubled in size. That is where my energy is going as the path continues to fork. Perhaps the path where I write a novel is now one where I craft a memoir — and I never could have seen that coming.
Last week, I also started acupuncture. Being given the sage advice to find
help wherever I can, I’m trying it out again. I told the acupuncturist our story, that it was due to “bad luck,” as one of my gynecologists back home said — after (as I must remind myself) he said that it wasn’t anything I ate or drank or did or didn’t do. Slowly, the acupuncturist shook his head. “Not bad luck. An experience.” I’m not sure I would have been ready, even a week earlier, to hear it put that way, but for some reason I could accept that interpretation. The filter, while always on, lets certain things through at certain times.
I realize I’m also writing here through that filter and it must be hard to read. It’s depressing. It’s painful. It’s a nightmare you might not want to get too close to because, let’s face it, it sucks up close. I don’t blame you. I hope this post also reassures you that while there is no denying the
hell we’re in, I am trying. Trying to write, to prioritize health, to believe that I will travel from step to step because I now understand that’s what faith is. In kind, I finally got my period. I overshare that piece of information because I told you I was waiting for that first step forward with a stabilized system. In the meantime, it was limbo. It was purgatory. It was spinning around and around in place. Now that particular “in between” has passed and I am very, very relieved.
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| …and close to home in Santiago. |
I am in a new “in between,” a new offshoot of the fork, as I wait to be pregnant again. I won’t be chronicling those next steps — it’s too terrifying to share here and potentially have to unwind again. It will be a long time before we hold another baby in our arms and, for as much as I have shared, it remains a private journey for us. We appreciate your love and support as much as ever, even if I go quiet about the milestones for a while. Just trust, as I try to, that there will be a happy day someday when I can share more about a healthy heartbeat joining our world.
In the meantime, the forks keep appearing. The timeline keeps unfolding differently. The months of the next calendar year become potential due dates, even though I try to resist that urge to define the future or let “May” or “June” or “July” mean anything other than “May” or “June” or “July.” Or, on the other path, let those months become markers when Lorenzo might have been doing X, Y, or Z. Still, it’s hard to make commitments, to have any idea where our family will be or be able to travel to or what we’ll be able to participate in. A family event where I might have passed a teething baby around to meet our relatives is now one I may not be able to attend at all if Ryan and I are fortunate enough to be welcoming another child. Or, we may be all too free to be there because that child won’t arrive for much longer than I am willing to feel prepared for right now. We just don’t know. You can see only so much through the filter. The forks reveal themselves only so far ahead on the path.I realize I’m giving you two metaphors when strong writing typically calls for one. Like I don’t know which book to write, I don’t know which metaphor better helps you to understand. It’s part of the division. Maybe, in giving you both, you understand a bit better how I see and where I walk.
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