Business first. For those interested in keeping up on this cycle, my chart may be found here: http://www.fertilityfriend.com/home/17b60f Knock yourselves out. This now eliminates my need to communicate unless I need to talk about it to get it off my mind, while still satisfying any who are curious.
Next up: I dreamed a dream yesterday. About Gabriel. The only dream of him I can remember (I remember some nightmares of the hospital and his birth but this was different). It was wonderful, because I got to see his face, aged about 4-5 years. I got to spend time with him, watch him with his daddy, hug him, hold him. And he loved us. He told us he loved us and he understood. Priceless. And not as sad as you might think. I was sad to wake up, but I sort of knew all along it was a dream, so it wasn't shocking or upsetting to wake up. Mostly I wish it had been a shared experience, so DH could know what Gabe looked like as a little boy.
And next: There is a really neat project going on at still life 365. Here is the description, taken from that site: "still life 365 is a unique art project for, about and by mothers and fathers who have experienced miscarriage, stillbirth or infant death. still life 365 posts a piece of art every day by a poet, artist, photographer, crafter, musician, collagist, paper artist, filmmaker, painter, sculptor, fabric artist and ordinary person exploring grief through creativity. each piece is an expression of grief, survival, sadness, love and hope. still life 365 is intended to be a safe space for creative expression."
What a neat thing is happening there, opening space for grieving parents to express themselves in different media. I'm inspired by it, awed by it, even as I nod my head along and spend time looking at the art there. I hope you stop by and take a look as well, and if you have suffered pregnancy or baby loss, consider opening your creative side and allow some of your grief through in a different way than you might normally.
And to wrap things up, a little update on me. I don't think I've really talked much about how I'm doing lately, at least not directly. The experience of the chemical pregnancy and how foolish I felt sort of turned me off it for awhile, I guess. But I do spend a fair amount of time continuing to work through (analytically these days) our short time with Gabriel and how we are doing now.
I feel comfortable saying that we are, that I am, doing ok. The ache is ever present, but we have proceeded on with life. This life is not what we would have chosen or wanted, but is the one we've been given to live. I feel lucky to have Gabriel as our son, despite his existing now only as a spark, a spirit, a soul. I feel lucky that he visits us and that we got to know him, however briefly. I miss him tremendously.
It's sort of odd, because he wasn't around long, and how much of him did we really know and how much was a construct or our own thoughts thrust on him? I don't know, and I find these days that I don't much care. The impact he had on us, and our lives, and consequently the ripples outward from us (let alone the ripples in other people's ponds directly caused by him) is stunning. Sometimes I marvel, sometimes I still weep.
It's not low lows anymore. Which is good. We feel pretty . . . normal. We laugh, we live, we love, and we sometimes raise a glass in silent acknowledgement of the hole that is there.
Life is not always easy. I have come to realize I'm hiding more than I might admit, unwilling to spend time with people who don't know or care. Hard to believe we're coming up on 6 months, and yet. . . I'm still hiding, still trying to protect myself. It's still better that way, I think. I've also come to realize how permanent this hole is. How fragile my heart is. It's rather like Humpty-Dumpty. All the king's horses and all the king's men . . . the heart has been broken and some parts are ground into tiny pieces beneath the horses' hooves and are not replaceable or fixable. There is glue enough, I think, to function, but perfection is unattainable.
Perhaps what I've learned is that it was never attainable, and that control is a myth. I'm slowly learning to integrate what I've learned into my worldview. I'm not settled yet, but a lot of the anger is gone. Evaporated away.
I guess I'll quote myself from a thread on gitw: "I guess I sort of think that you [I] will always be Medusa somehow, but that when you [I] can look in the mirror and see the snakes writhing and not be turned to stone yourself [myself], you are [I am] on the road to peace."
I see writhing, I see the marks upon me, and I am not stone any longer. Ready to move ahead? That depends on the day. But I can meet my own eyes now. And that is movement down the road.