Three words: Heirloom Dishwashing Liquid. This fine specimen of liquified soap, with which one might cleanse the scum and villainy off of one's dishes – indeed, both fine china AND...
my bittersweet symphony
I had a rather tough weekend, emotionally speaking. I think that without realizing it, I spent a great deal of my energy reserves last week trying to act normal at work, telling some of the people I work with about the miscarriage, and talking about it with friends. On Friday I went to yoga class at lunch (which was a little strange, since the last time I went was the day that my body began to miscarry) and did a lighter-than-normal routine. At the end during stretching and meditation, I had the overwhelming urge to cry. So I did, as I was lying there trying to meditate. I figured, well, I guess I need to do this right now, and better here than at the office. On Saturday I had a little breakdown in the evening, and on Sunday I was just generally cranky.
[T]here are no neat endings. My pregnancy was a work-in-progress, suddenly interrupted. Miscarriage is unraveling, a coming undone, and though there is a point where things are finished from a biological perspective, there’s no telling when the rest of the process ends, or if it ever does. If conceiving a child is a leap of faith, so too are the months that follow. Things can go wrong, but there is also a good chance that they’ll go splendidly. In the end, we are left with little choice but to bless the one that got away, wish it safe passage to its next life, and forgive it for leaving us. Then we take a deep breath and start again.
I went to see Dr. Burt yesterday for a followup visit. He gave me the all-clear and said I’m pretty well healed up. I can have sex again now! Woot! 🙂 If Doc and I decide to start trying to get pregnant again, his advice was to wait three months first. We’re reserving that topic for private discussion though. But you can bet I’ll post about it if and when the time is right.
Yvonne showed me this painting by Frida Kahlo, “Henry Ford Hospital. I love it.
It’s been stranger than I thought it would be, trying to adjust back into my normal routine. It’s like there’s this whole other reality that I have to learn how to integrate, and make a new “normal.” And I know it’s just going to take a while. And right now I place a lot more importance on these recent events than I will a few months from now. So eventually, normal will be a lot like my previous versions of normal, just with a sad event in my past… one that I’ll always look back on with some degree of sadness, but the acuteness of that pain will fade, like all memories of pain. Maybe eventually it’ll be bittersweet. That’s the best kind of sadness, I think. Bittersweet keeps you sharp, thinking, human.