mind dump

I spent 3 days last week at a pretty intense class for a certification exam I am hoping to take later this year. One of the test tips they shared with us is the concept of a "mind dump," where you walk into an exam setting and immediately throw down on scrap paper all of the things and concepts you studied that you are afraid you are going to forget. Once that's all down on paper, you've addressed your anxieties and can actually focus on the exam and questions in front of you.

Brilliant. That's brilliant, right? So simple. Such a "I paid xx for that?" kind of common sensical approach to something a little overwhelming. But it is common sense if you never thought of it before? If I retain nothing else from the week, it is that tip (and M2M, V2V, SPIE and a ton of other mnemonics I hope I connect with the things they are supposed to help me remember).

Not that blogging is a test, but its been a while, I don't have time to write right now, but I'm tired of having the waaaah waaaah posts at the top of my screen. Rather than try to keep all of these "gotta write abouts" floating in my brain, I'm dumping here. I need space for other things.

In no particular order:

elevators, irresponsibility, sustainability, parallels, TH*N, purposeful vagaries, positive energies, separating love from tragedy, and jukeboxes.

More later.

What One Does

When one is at the lowest of lows...wait, I should say, what I did, when at the lowest of lows, was to surrender.

I confessed to myself and to you I was overwhelmed. Drowning in sorrow, grief, self-pity. Unable to see any way out of the mire. And I just sat with that for a while. Because I think you have to. The rest of the workweek is for denial. The day of delivery of bad news is for sitting with it. So I did.

And when M. came home I blurted it all out in one non-stop sentence. And then I let him sit with it for a while too. Which is hard, by the way, when you have had hours to digest something and then you have to watch that process unfold in someone else. I tried not to rush him through. Tried to let him come to his own conclusions.

And then we went out. And cried a little more. And then the soothing began. Frankly, the soothing began as soon as the first emails and comments came in. You soothed me.

Not only did you soothe my heart, you humbled me with your thoughts and offers of kindnesses I will not detail here. But wow.

I know it is awfully hard to be supportive when you know there is something going on with someone who is being incredibly cryptic about it all. But dammit, you found a way.

Thank you.

Please

Tell me.

What does one do when the waves of bad news and heartbreaking statements simply

do.
not.
stop.

What does one do? What am I supposed to do. Please, someone. Tell me.

Tell me how to share this news with my beloved husband, someone who, on a good day, is not quite sure why he's getting out of bed and pretending. Pretending anything matters now that his daughters are dead and every

single

chance

of trying again just reveals more and more layers of bad news. How am I supposed to do this?

**

I know things cannot be as bad as they seem right now. But right now, damn.

I thought grief and all that comes with it was supposed to happen in waves. How can I catch my breathe if there is no ebb and flow?

I am waiting for a free pass here. Waiting for some divine intervention to tap fate on the shoulder and say, "now, now, don't you think m's had enough? Why don't you let them alone for a while?"

Please, fate. (chance, circumstance, gods, whatEVER) Please leave us alone. At least long enough to lick our wounds before you inflict more.

Please.

Aw Hey

Life's not so bad. Really it isn't.

Of course we went to happy hour.

And of course right at the depths of his "whatamIdoinghere?" angst about work, some things happened over the course of the day that made M. realize its not all bad. And that his young and ambitious (and sometimes a little bossy) boss has the exact same thoughts he does. And she IS all about the corporate track. And maybe it is time to start looking around for something else. But in the meantime, while M's hard, hard work may not reflect in his paycheck, damn, those health insurance benefits, some of which we never ever had before, have been so necessary this year. I'm not sure what we would have done without them.

But we'll make a plan. We always do. Fine tune it over a Bell's or a Dogfish Head. And then try to make something happen.

Me? Oh hey, I'm just handling the reprecussions of my own resolutions. My crises are completely of my own making. And they're not baaaad, they're just, well, hard.

I asked for more autonomy and authority at work. And shit. I got it. And shit. It's not easy. Especially when I feel pretty strongly about having down time during my week. Keeping things to 40 hours is unrealistic, but I get incredibly cranky and resentful when things push past 50. So, there's that.

And I told myself I would make more time to say yes to friends and family and that takes, well, time.

And I am trying to be a better partner. Someone who is able to hold up and support M in his deepest hours as well as he does that for me.

So, I'm just trying to make all this happen, and hang on to the hope of a family, and stay sane.

and kick some dodge ball ass.

Just a Bit

So, BlogHer tells me my blog's been dormant for another two weeks.

Sorry.

So, um, whadyawannaknow?

Some things are creeping slowly forward. Other things feel hopelessly stalled (but then I realize I'm being all dramatic. they're not. they just FEEL it). We're playing dodgeball and wouldn't you like to know about that?! Maybe later. Another post. It definitely deserves its own post. Work is kicking my ass. Work is bringing M down, down, down....

Into a state that turns a LOST episode filled with resurrections and time travel into a tenuous and sad precursor of a night with no sleep. Or at least no good dreams. A night of if only's....

Sigh. This babies grieving is hard.

And a W2 really should never, ever, be used to quantify one's own self worth. Or question past decisions. Or wonder if a life not on the corporate path was one you really wanted. (well, yes. IMHO, yes)

But it's not me we're talking about. So I'll just keep my mouth shut and keep on hugging.

And hope we're making a trip to happy hour this fine evening. Cause I sure would like a beer.

Resolute

Two weeks without a post makes me feel like I am avoiding something. Walking around an obvious elephant. So I am going to start typing until me and the pachyderm collide.

I started dismantling the Xmas tree yesterday afternoon and that makes me a little sad. Neither M nor I are "yay! Christmas!" kind of people, but the tree has always been our favorite part, particularly when we started to see it as a visual reminder that "life endures, and longer, warmer, better days are inevitably ahead."

Part of me wants to shed the tree, wipe clean any remnant of 2009 and move forward full on into the new year. Which, by the way, I have already decided is the "Year of m." But part of me seems physically unable to close the lids, pull down the lights and wrap tissue paper around the girls' ornaments.

That part of me realized yesterday that in a parallel world, they would be here, and we would soon be getting ready for their first birthday. Two girls. Two daughters. Soon turning one.

Sigh.

I hate those realizations. The ones that smack you in the head like a loose wet branch as you walk along, one foot in front of the other, face down, instead of looking forward, like you should be. Like I should be.

Because there is so, so much promise in this new year, I can barely stand to talk about it for fear of jinxing a single thing.

My mom asked me "what's new" yesterday afternoon and I filled that conversation with little things, walking around the big things a'brewing. Each for a number of reasons. But even the "filler" (better times at my job, finding a therapist that feels like a good fit for me and M. - and actually going - showing off the scabs on my knuckles from hitting the heavy bag) got her (and then me) excited.

Long story short, I think 2010 is going to be an eventful year. I am willing it so.

But if there is one thing this adventure has taught us, there are things that have nothing to do with will, will power or even desire. There are some things that are completely out of one's control. And for a classic type A, honor student, overachiever, that lesson is a damn hard one to learn.

But there are other things that are completely and totally within my power. So while we wait for other things to come into place, there is time to focus on those resolutions:

M and I have been hitting the gym at least 3 times a week and exercising a little more restraint with the evening beverages. Fried food has been eliminated. Consumption of meat at a minimum and only when we know where it came from (i.e. from our favorite butcher). Ideally 30 lbs. would be shed this year. But that's not really the goal. The goal is to have a body I am proud of.

I've mentioned our therapist a few times now, and while I don't see her being a permanent structure in our life, I do see her as very important for us right now. Our initial visit with her got us through the holiday season and set some big things in motion. So much so that we joked about being slightly apprehensive about the second one - what's going to happen next?? That visit left us thinking hard about relationships outside of our own that we are struggling with. We are still chewing on the conversation. We'll see where we take it. And we will continue to see her. For as long as it takes. Because we want to, we need to, continue the process of healing.

Had I written resolutions a few months ago, "to have a new job" probably would have topped the list. But after exploring some other options, having a "come to Jesus" meeting with my boss, and really thinking through what I want, what I want is to be happy with the thing I do to make money. I want to feel like my skills and education are fully utilized (and appreciated) and that there is motion and momentum in my career. So, to that end, I've decided to try to earn a CAE (certified association executive) this year, and to continue having honest conversations with my employer about things that I think could be different/better/improved. In short, I am going to start acting like the director I know I should be.

Now we get to the hard stuff. The goals that are harder to define, harder to measure, harder to do:

• to show more patience and compassion - to hear the words that were meant, not necessarily the ones that were said.
• to pay attention to friends and their needs, not just how they respond to mine.
• to minimize envy.

And here's where the elephant punches me in the face with his wet sloppy trunk.

I was recalling my reunion and follow up phone call with my birth father to a friend of ours the other night and he sat quietly for a minute. And then said, "dude, did you say that shit out loud?" Yes. "Don't you think you were a little harsh?" Probably. "Well, what are you going to do next? Is this how it ends?" (crickets) I'm not sure. And I'm not. But it doesn't feel good where things are. So I think I need to think that through a little longer. I can't break into someone's life, fuck with his reality (oh that girl you never thought you would meet, well here she is and p.s. she doesn't really like you) and then disappear into the sunset. Some things need fixed here. Or at least mended. It seems we may have the topic for session #3 lined up.

And while we're there, I might confess what a heavy, heavy weight is on my heart when I think about a person I love that I am avoiding. Allegedly for my own self-preservation. She is pregnant. And joyful. And it is killing me. Like no other pregnancy before. She has never been anything other than supportive to us - in pregnancy, in sorrow, in trying to be joyful again. She loves us. I love her. But the thought of seeing her right now makes me shrivel and want to cry. So I dream of her. And I dream of telling her all the things I want to say in person. I contemplate giving her my maternity clothes, then weep at the thought of seeing her in them. I cannot imagine not having this person in my life, but I cannot cope with the emotions flooding me right now.

And this all feels so stereotypical and dramatic and I bet if I read this in another blog I would be rolling my eyes over it right the hell now. But all I know is this pregnancy is affecting me like no other, perhaps because the doors of any future possibility of my own are sealing so firmly shut. I know I am not being the friend I want to be right now. I know my avoidance is hurting me more than anyone else. I know that she is patiently respecting my absence and will probably not say a word until I initiate contact. But when will that be?

Where the Times Finally Get It Right

2009 must have been the year that traditional media sources (aka those that we wish would know better) realized the comment-making (aka revenue producing) machines that stories about infertility, loss, adoption and assisted reproduction techniques truly are.

2009 was the year I stopped taking the New York Times seriously:

Preemie Twins Cost a Lot of Money!
All Infertile Couples Are Octomoms Just Waiting To Happen!!!!
Surrogates Are Horrible People That Will Take Your Money and Keep Your Babies!

Not the actual headlines but they might as well have been. Rather than being all the news that's fit to print, these stories played off the basest of assumptions, perpetuated fears, cultural and class stereotypes and generated the comments and controversy that have editors (and sales reps salivating.)

Why don't these people Just Adopt?!
If G*d wanted you to have a baby, you would!
It's probably better you lost your baby - he/she was probably busted anyway...
Infertiles are bitter, selfish and far too sensitive! Get over yourselves!

That's enough. You know these far too well.

Sometimes you hear people with post traumatic stress disorder talk about triggers. Things, smells, instances, sometimes even thoughts that throw them back into the throes of the trauma that altered their lives.

These stories were my triggers. Heart-racing, tear-streaming, fist-shaking, immobilizing rage inducing triggers.

But damn if I don't love a good acrostic. And the crossword, well, this is what calms us. Doing the puzzles. Together. Every night. In bed. It is our life, our routine.

So the Times Magazine still finds itself in our bag as we wave goodbye to M's parents every Sunday.

This Sunday, I was shocked. Nearly knocked off my feet. Could it be? I do believe the Times finally got it right.

And I am guessing they have no idea.

There, on the last page of the Magazine, tucked away in the last paragraph of Robin Black's charming essay about being chosen for a home repair reality TV show (and then denied), lay the truth about loss:

How did this happen? Really? There were unanticipated losses, grief that enveloped us for years. A stillbirth. A beloved child with special needs. Challenges we never imagined we’d confront. None of it amusing. Nothing like a situation comedy. We’d let go of so many easy assumptions, and in the process we let other things go as well. Gradually, we adjusted, even became stronger. But the evidence of our faltering remained, the facade of our home stubbornly unable to mend itself.

The honesty and beauty of these words take my breath away and all I can say is, yes. Yes, I know what you mean.

Somehow, this little confession tucked away in a larger piece feels more real to me than the shouting headlines, the confrontation and aggression of the comments section. It is not obvious. If you blink you just might miss it. But it is there. And in retrospect, colors the entire story in a new shade.