Life "After" infertility. Being, becoming, midlife-ing, parenting... But no whistling.
09 August 2015
12 years ago
Today I've been all tender and raw. Heart achy and wistful. I've battled with Della, feeling powerless and ineffectual. A camperkid barfed after dinner , triggering my anxiety. And I was wondering why the hell everything was feeling so off, so hard, so acutely uncomfortable. Della went to campfire so I'm alone and not working in this moment. So I went outside, lay on the ground and looked at the clouds, the trees, the late evening sunlight filtering through. Birds and insects and sky and light and the smell of late summer and grass and dust and earth and suddenly I realized that this is the week that Jeff killed himself. It was this light this sky these sounds these smells that accompanied that early shock and grief. In fact, it was on a Sunday. So hurrah for visceral memory. And hello tenderness. Of course you're here. And why does compassion feel understandable now and not available to my impatient self an hour ago? Reasons give us permission to be where we are. The "because" that brings understanding switches impatience to love. I wish I could flip that switch more easily with myself and others when the Because remains less clear, or unknown or unknowable. But today, hello grief. Hello raw tenderness. Hello discomfort. Hello compassion. Hello impatience. Hello love.
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