Off Guard

I get caught off guard a lot. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not.

There are moments when I am grateful for quiet mornings to myself, when I don’t have to worry about anyone but the dog and I. We can go for a walk, or not. I fix my own breakfast and sit in silence while reading. It’s quiet and peaceful and I’m grateful.

Then there are moments when I’m singing along to the music in my car on the way to work. I hear the words, “Just as the moon follows the sun” and I think about how the moon shines only because it’s reflecting the light of the sun and then I think about how a child’s face shines because of the love coming from her mother’s face and I end up crying the rest of the way to work.

It’s about as random as that, every.single.day.

Other times I’m caught off guard by someone seeing their own story in mine – someone I’d never expect to understand what I’m going through. And so, I shed a few tears for them because I’m sad they had to experience this too, and for me because I wish there was another way.

I’m caught off guard by people’s theology – that this is God’s plan, that they don’t understand why, but they are very sure that this is God’s plan for my life.

I’ll never get used to someone asking if we have children. That will always catch me off guard. Always.

I’m caught off guard when I see pictures of me holding a child. I’m caught off guard when a little one says, “I love you.” I’m caught off guard when I see my brother or sister-in-law lovingly care for their child.

I keep waiting for my life to make sense. For it all to fall to place. For the moment when I realize why. For the situation that makes it all clear.

I suspect I’ll be waiting for that for a long time.

The waves of grief aren’t as powerful anymore. The waves are smaller and less intense, for the most part. But the waves are still there – they still ebb and flow into my life, often without warning.

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I keep waiting for the day when I won’t need to write about this anymore (maybe you are too). The day when I’ll look back and think, “wow, I haven’t written a post about [infertility, grief] in a long time!”

I don’t know when that will happen.

As long as writing grants me some relief. As long as the release of getting all of this out of my head and onto a computer screen eases the pain. As long as it works, I’ll keep writing.

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I’m grateful to have the space in my life to say yes to a three week pilgrimage (more on that later!). I’m grateful for a sewing room in which I can leave scissors and sharp objects out. I’m grateful that I can just randomly go for a run when the spirit moves. I’m grateful for all of that.

But, I would give it all up in a heartbeat, for a heartbeat.

I will continue to be grateful. I will not let bitterness take over my life. I will find joy in the midst of sorrow. The longest night as come and gone…the light is coming back. It always does.

peace.