Memory Lane

Memories can be such a wonderful thing, but for those who have experienced loss, they can also be a trigger for sadness. I look back at memories of my mom and worry that as time goes on they will continue to fade. For now, I hold onto them as hard as I can and let whatever emotions I may feel play out. Today's post is from a gal experiencing difficulty as she and her partner have worked to start a family together. 

I caught myself watching one of my own memories today as if it were a movie.  The memory was so clear, I could feel it, touch it and smell it. It was a memory of a time shortly before everything went wrong.

I was almost two months pregnant.  It was my first pregnancy.  My husband and I were both glowing with excitement.  My husband was on board with starting a family but it wasn’t until I was actually pregnant that we both realized how much it really meant to him.

We were at a barbecue at a friend’s rooftop pool.  It was a beautiful warm day. The sunlight was bouncing off the water. I didn’t swim, but I put my toes in the water.  The view was amazing.  Everything felt perfect.  When our friends were all swimming, my husband and I had some time alone poolside.  We sat on a beach towel on the deck.  He looked so happy.  He was actually tearing up.  He put his hand on my belly.

“I was thinking”, he said, “that after we have this little chicken, we could adopt a sibling for that chicken”.

For him to say that meant so much to both of us.  It meant that we could have more than one child. It meant that we hadn’t abandoned the idea of adoption even though I was pregnant.  It meant  that his ideal family was based on the model of his own family.  Our life was really beginning.  We had so much to look forward to.  Both of our dreams were coming true.

It was hard for me to “watch” this memory.  This is the part of my life that I now have to file under “before”.  It seems so long ago.  I feel like we were different people. I have since lost three babies.  I have cut friends out of my lives who have had babies since.  I have watched the world move on as my world seems to stand still.  I have been living in pain. My life has revolved around fertility treatments.  Adoption has evolved from a way to grow our family to quite possibly the only way we’ll be able to grow our family.  Our sex life has been scheduled to the minute and full of the fear of a miss-timed broken pregnancies.  I miss my life.  I wish I could go back to the pool and dip my toes in the water and not worry about anything but a sunburn.

Everything is about infertility (even missing Grandma)

Lee-Anne is a beautiful, brave woman who has been sharing her challenges with infertility with her family, friends and readers through her blog. My heart broke for her when I read this post (which originally appeared on her blog) that she has shared for Life is Sweet month. 

My Grandma has always been a big part of my life.  Time with her was the source of most of my fondest childhood memories from Christmases, to swimming in her neighbours’ pool, to greasing our bodies with baby oil and tanning together at the beach (because it was the 80s and that wouldn’t have been considered child abuse yet).  As an adult, we developed an “adult” relationship with frequent visits and dinners out.  I’ve always felt so lucky to have had the privilege of having an adult relationship with my Grandma. It allowed me to really get to know who she was (a very sassy lady) and for me to hear about parts of her life and parts of history that many people would never get to hear about first hand.

When I found out I was pregnant the first time, one of the first people I told was my Grandma.  She was 93 years old at the time.  I was so happy to be able to share this with her.  We have a small family and all of my cousins (all of whom are very close to me in age) have had children.  Their children have relationships with Great-Grandma.  Great-Grandma has knitted them blankets and sweaters and mittens. Great-Grandma sends pictures of them as her Christmas card.  Great-Grandma has their artwork on her fridge.  I wanted so desperately to be a part of this joy.

When I told her I was pregnant, she started to knit.  When I lost the baby, she stopped.  I may have mentioned this in a previous blog, but she even “announced that there was another Great-Grandkid on the way in her retirement home newsletter. The next two pregnancies I didn’t tell her about personally but my aunt let her know when I lost them.

My Grandma had her own struggles with infertility.  I don’t know the whole story because “we didn’t talk about these things”.  But I know through piecing stories together that there was “something in there the size of an orange” and that my Grandma adopted my father and my aunt.  Even though we’re not technically related by “blood”, people would always comment about how much we looked the same.  We had the same eyes and the smile (and some of the same sass).  We also have the same initials.  We had a special little bond over these things.

When I told her our plans to adopt, she was excited.  She was completely shocked by how much the process had changed and by how long we will likely have to wait.   Her experience was very quick and very different.

On Thursday, my Grandma passed away.

It took too long. She will never meet my child (if I’m lucky enough to ever have one). She will never finish that knitting. My child will never be on her Christmas card and their art will never be hung with pride on her fridge.

I feel like I failed.  I feel like I missed out.  I feel more alone than ever.  I wanted her to know that everything turned out ok.

Her funeral is today and I’m not there.  There are a few reasons for that and it was a huge struggle to come to that decision.  When her health started to go a few weeks ago, I started to panic.  Not for her.  I knew she was ok; I knew she’d had an amazing and full life.  I knew she was 95 years old. I was panicking about how I would deal with it.

One factor is my father. My father has been out of my life (and the lives of my Aunt, Uncle and cousins) for several years for a reason that I’ll save for another blog. My father has not met my husband, and never will.  The idea of having this “reunion” at a funeral was too much for me.

Adding to this panic was the fact that my brother and his pregnant wife would be there.  Pregnancy at a funeral always provides people with comfort. It’s the perfect symbol of the cycle of life.  To me right now it represents the exact opposite.   It compounds my grief rather than bringing me relief.

Everyone else in my family would be there with their children and babies.   For me to bring my own grief to that situation wouldn’t have been healthy for me, wouldn’t have been respectful to anyone else and would have made the situation worse.

I sat this one out.  I sincerely hope they understand.  I’d like to think my Grandma would have.

I feel selfish for making the passing of my Grandma, who I loved and adored, about infertility. Why is EVERYTHING about infertility?

I’m sad, so said, and I don’t think that the people close to me really understand why.

Lee-Anne is a 37 year old teacher who got married in May 2012. She writes candidly about the challenges she and her husband have faced in starting a family on her blog.