Sorry, I just had to rant. Rant aside, we spent a lot of time talking about how it really is God in control of our lives. We think we can plan the course of our lives, and it's at times like these when God steps in and reminds us who is really in control. Our lives never turn out the way we think they will. D and I were actually talking about how our lives are sort of flip flopped. She and her husband dated five years before they got engaged. She went through a hard time before she got engaged because her life wasn't where she thought it would be at that point. She thought she'd already be married. And as far as I can tell, she hasn't had any problems getting pregnant. Me, on the other hand, I was convinced I wouldn't meet anyone and get married until I was 30. Up until I'd met my husband at the age of 23, I'd had one boyfriend whom I dated for a whole 2 months, and hadn't dated anyone in the six years since. But from the point when I met my husband, we were married within less than a year and a half, when all was said and done. On the other hand, while I worried about ever getting married, I never thought I'd have issues getting pregnant. Look where I am now.
We also talked about how the pain will some day go away. K was telling us a story about a friend of hers from back when she lived in Sydney who'd gone through five miscarriages. They used to commute to work together in the mornings, and her friend would cry during those bus rides, talking about her pain, and sharing with K how hard it was to be around K because K had a little boy at that time. Years later, K's friend now has two children of her own, and when she and K talk, she can barely remember the heartache she went through. When K brings up that period of time in her friend's life, her friend remarks with some wonder that she can barely remember those teary conversations they used to share every morning.
I wonder if that will be me some day. I hope that will be me some day. But still. It's hard to imagine that some day something that seems to consume so much of my head space and fill every corner of my day with its uninvited presence could be just a vague, distant memory. It seems laughable from where I'm standing now. But then I think about my days as a single person before I met my husband. There were a number of weepy nights spent alone in my apartment listening to sad CDs about love -- love lost, unrequited love, every single permutation of blighted love. If you could count it up, I spent hours on the phone with friends bemoaning my single status. And then I met my husband, and the agony and worry and heartache just went away, instantly. Every once in a while I'll think back to those days, and part of me has to laugh at the foolishness of my young self. I was only 23 for crying out loud! If only my 30-year-old self could reach back in time and comfort that lovelorn young woman.
I'm hoping that my 35-year-old or 40-year-old self has something similar to say to my 30-year-old self at this moment in time. It will all work out. Just have a little faith. I've read my fair share of infertility blogs at this point, and there are a number of infertiles who have made it out onto the other side, one way or another. It's interesting to read their entries pre and post baby. The darkness and despair prior, and the joy, however quivering and tentative, as each day of their pregnancy passes until that wonderful, transcendent moment they lay eyes on their babies for the first time. And then the entries about the early days of parenthood and the sleepless nights, the feedings, wondering what type of stroller to buy. Did they ever imagine that they would make it to the other side?
What makes the journey so hard is that we don't know the ending. We don't know if it will be a happy one or not, if we will get the babies we so desperately want. I wish I could be ok with that, but I'm not. I hate the uncertainty. But if I may be so bold as to say this, I do think there is a happy ending for most of us. Because one way or another, we will go on to have our babies some day. Or we may adopt, and meet our children somewhere down the line. Or we will decide that we will live child-free. But one day, we will be ok. We'll make it through this somehow. We may even look back and realize that this was the life we were meant to live. Have faith.
In the meantime, I want to do more than just cope or survive. And that was another thing that K, D and I talked about. How in our culture, we're trained to live and plan for that next thing. And all the while, we miss out on the now. It's easier said than done, but I realize how true that is. When I think back on 2010, the majority of it seems like a blur. I can only remember that I waited each month to ovulate, and then I waited each month to see if I got my period or not. We're talking about 24-some days of last year that I can really remember. What happened to the rest of the year? There must have been other things that happened, that were important or eventful or happy, but I have a hard time recalling them. What a waste of a year.
The conversation made me realize that I want to be more present this year. I want to try to live in the now, and savor the days as much as I can. I don't know how I'll do this -- with God's help -- but I would like to try.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there were none of them.