It really is amazing the difference a year can make. A year ago today, we were on the eve of beginning our first and only IVF cycle. We had a fridge full of medicine, boxes full of needles and brains full of nervousness. Today, though, we walked into the agency’s office with hearts full of grief and brains full of questions. I left, however, feeling hopeful for the first time in 8 months.
It really is quite hard to put into words the emotions associated with the loss of a child. And although there are several that have been in our very unfortunate shoes, it still feels like no one will ever know the pain we went through. I don’t know how to explain the sadness that comes with loss of a child after several sorrowful years of infertility. We love him and we miss him every single day. Those words seem so plain to read. I miss my baby. I miss the way he moved. The way he looked so much like his daddy. His eyelids. His long legs. The way I took care of myself in order to take care of him. He was so very much a part of me.
I heard someone say something recently that really resonated with me. Most people will try to assuage the sadness with sentiments religious in nature. Like, “God has a reason for everything.” And while these statements are by no means malicious in nature (quite the opposite really, religion is comforting for the faithful)– they are not comforting to a parent who has lost a child. What this person said in response to those comments was this– “it was simply not worth the lesson”. Nothing that will happen, no path in life, no reward in journey will ever be worth the loss of our son. I would give every single thing I could to have him with me. To hear his voice, to kiss his head, to teach him things and to laugh with him.
Today I felt like the universe helped me settle my mind. Adoption seems very overwhelming. There are so many steps and so much paperwork and fundraising…it’s overwhelming. It’s frustrating. But we want to be parents together. We are ready to be Mom and Dad. To teach our child all the things we love in this world and help them to find the things that they love. To watch each other as husband and wife learn how to become Mom and Dad. We’re ready.
We left the agency’s office holding hands. We hugged in the parking lot and decided that things felt right– even more than right, they felt doable. They felt less overwhelming and more possible. And possible isn’t a feeling I’ve felt in a long while. We’ll take it.