The journal
I’m usually pretty rat-shit at keeping secrets (and no it’s not the bun in the oven kind of secret).
My big secret is that it was my birthday back in December, the 5th.
Though I usually get pretty pumped about having a special day all about me, last year’s was the beginning of a slow decline into a place that isn’t so nice.
The day before my 32nd birthday, the previous year, I found out I was pregnant with Jesse. Who could have asked for a better gift? So last year’s birthday was the beginning of the “this time last year” scenarios.
This birthday, my mother gave me a journal. On the front in a little blurb that says,
A remarkable woman
The warmth,
The wisdom,
A life worth living,
recording and
remembering.
An authentic journey
Her moments.
Her memories.
Her compassion.
Her courage.
Her journal.
This is her life,
Celebrate her.
I cried when I read this. Not because I thought that it was touching that my mother thinks that I am remarkable, or that she thought writing might help me with my grief, but because the “me” I am now, isn’t worth celebrating. I’m not filled with warmth, or compassion, and I have shown very little courage.
I want to be that person, but I’m not.
I want to have compassion and show courage. I want to have a journey that is worth remembering, worth writing about............. worth celebrating.
I’m bitter and angry about the women I see every day who seem to be able to have babies with such ease. Some of who are now on to their second, third or even fourth pregnancies, since I started out on this journey.
But I just can’t seem to get past how much this all still hurts.
My big secret is that it was my birthday back in December, the 5th.
Though I usually get pretty pumped about having a special day all about me, last year’s was the beginning of a slow decline into a place that isn’t so nice.
The day before my 32nd birthday, the previous year, I found out I was pregnant with Jesse. Who could have asked for a better gift? So last year’s birthday was the beginning of the “this time last year” scenarios.
This birthday, my mother gave me a journal. On the front in a little blurb that says,
A remarkable woman
The warmth,
The wisdom,
A life worth living,
recording and
remembering.
An authentic journey
Her moments.
Her memories.
Her compassion.
Her courage.
Her journal.
This is her life,
Celebrate her.
I cried when I read this. Not because I thought that it was touching that my mother thinks that I am remarkable, or that she thought writing might help me with my grief, but because the “me” I am now, isn’t worth celebrating. I’m not filled with warmth, or compassion, and I have shown very little courage.
I want to be that person, but I’m not.
I want to have compassion and show courage. I want to have a journey that is worth remembering, worth writing about............. worth celebrating.
I’m bitter and angry about the women I see every day who seem to be able to have babies with such ease. Some of who are now on to their second, third or even fourth pregnancies, since I started out on this journey.
But I just can’t seem to get past how much this all still hurts.
posted by Chan at 9:35 PM
4 Comments:
Yeah, it does all still hurt, but what sucks even more is thinking that no matter what happens in the tomorrows, it always will. We can only hope it doesn't hurt as deeply and the moments we smile outnumber the moments we cry.
It is hard to show courage and strength. IF takes everything away from us, but it does make us very strong. Waking up everyday takes so much courage.
Girl, you get up EVERY day, you go to work, keep a clean house, have a relationship with an amazing man and all the animals who have choosen to be in your life, you have friends and family- you have an amazing life and you are a strong and courageous woman in my eyes. I don't know if I could do the same, if I had been through what you have been through. I'd probably be an emotional hysterical wreck. We love you babe, hang in there, we are all thinking of you and nice to see you posting again. I was about to email you and check you hadn't fallen off the planet. Loads of hugs, Rissa.
I was just thinking that it was time to send you a message to make sure you were ok:(
Time can't undo any of the things that hurt us and the most that any of us can hope for is that time will let the pain become a dull ache rather than a searing twist of the knife.
For my part, I think you ARE a woman worth celebrating. You are a surviv or and you have kindness and compassion in you. No one says you have to use it all the time though;)
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