Mother’s Day.
I suppose it’s another one of those unfathomable things for most people anymore when they find out that you’re not childless by choice. I chalk up the blank stares, the sudden agape mouths, and the “uh, uh, uh” response to people genuinely not knowing what to say. It’s especially hard for people who don’t really know me that well yet.
Yes, I have wanted children for the entirety of my life. Yes, I have been pregnant. No, I have not had any children survive to birth. And no, it doesn’t make any other grief I’ve been through any easier. Yes, I’ve considered adoption. Yes, I understand that parenting doesn’t mean always physically having a child yourself but rather being a guide for those who need a little love and support. Yes, I have considered getting a sperm donor and doing it on my own. And yes, Alex and I tried very hard to have kids.
They never ask that other question though…the one I always sort of expect: Can your heart take another loss? And the answer I never get to give in response is: I honestly don’t know.
I don’t know a lot of things about what I can and can’t handle anymore.
Earlier today – when my brain started spinning hard and I couldn’t stop it – I remembered a trip to Costco in Juneau in 2013. We’d just lost our son (miscarriage #2) and I was incredibly vulnerable to bouts of random crying, depression, and severe guilt. I remember walking down a random aisle in the store and Alex, as per usual, was walking way far ahead of me checking stuff out. This little girl – who couldn’t have been more than 2 and no higher on Alex than his knee cap – came running up behind us and ran right past me to walk with him. Her Mom was right behind me, which I think I knew, but I remember the image hitting me hard. Alex turned his head to look at her just as she looked up at him and they both smiled at the same time…..and my heart just sunk.
That was the image I’d been wanting to see for as long as he and I had been together. We had lost a daughter shortly after our wedding in 2011 and I remember thinking she’d have been about that age and height at that moment, staring up at her amazing Dad as he explained the world to her the same way he always stopped to explain things to me. I imagined the son I had just lost would have eventually been doing the same thing…and I could almost see the fishing trips, the afternoons singing and dancing around the house to random music, the gardening and the driving and the school trips and the fighting all day every day. I could see my stubbornness and his genius creating so many problems in these tiny people and I could see both of our pride as they grew and took on the world. I could see our legacy…and it brought me to my knees. It did it again today, almost 2 years post his death, 7 years post our daughter’s, and 5 years post our son’s.
There are still some things here and there that render me completely and utterly unable to spin myself back up into a more positive spot. This was one of those things. I can remember my family so well that the snap back to reality of mourning their losses is almost more than any person should have to take.
I pushed through it, though. I told myself to breathe, to put one foot in front of the other one, and to claw my way back up out of the hole. You see…despite the twists and the going round and round and round…I know that I am still creating my legacy. Regardless of the pain and loss, I’m still standing. I’m still clawing my way back up when I fall. I’m still getting up and letting Life happen. It has to.
