The Real Story

OK. Here it is.

The real story. Where I am and what I am feeling.

Riveting, I know.

It's just that, well, this is hard and I try and try and then I falter and then I have to pull myself back up and I want other AP's who are waiting out there to see that someone else is struggling.

I am dealing with a few things. Our life is essentially on hold. I am grieving for the loss of babies--babies in my arms. I am grieving for my son. I am longing for him to be home with us. I am tackling every day life in the middle of a home re-do project from hell.

Mostly I start feeling down and sad and then feeling guilty and ungrateful for being sad and down. So that's fun. Mostly it is so difficult for me to be around anyone right now, it takes every scrap of energy I  have to smile and keep track of conversation. I spend every day, all day, feeling exhausted and drained.

Having your life on hold and longing to do any single thing that is concrete for your child is awful. Sure you can buy clothes and things but, really then you just have this stuff around that's waiting for him. You can get the room ready but then it sits empty. You can read books and try to prepare but mostly they scare the beejeezus outta you. 

I have come to the conclusion that my grief over infertility is there. It will more than likely always be there. The new revelation is that it is completely separate from my children and my love for them. Grief over infertility does not mean that you are ungrateful and just can't see your blessings. It means that your heart is broken and will always have that scar. It's funny though, this pain. It prevents me from doing things like holding babies or even being able to be in the same room as a pregnant woman without being in acute pain.  Gut wrenching pain. I was never able to really and truly hold my nephew when he was a baby, my heart would ache so awfully, that it was physically painful. I dared not attempt any sort of care taking for him, lest my desire to truly take over his care, overwhelm me and leave me devastated. Some have said to me, "You know, God knew what he was doing when he made it so you adopted, because you can't deal with babies" . If they only knew. ( This means that the baby shower I am going out of state to attend this week end should be a real treat in land mine avoidance. That doesn't mean I don't want to go. I do and it will be fun. It's just that there will be nightmares and sorrow afterwards, also a whole lot of God Questioning.)

I have been inundated with feeling for my son since Jan 5.  Then this makes me relive the times with Ev when her grief was so close to the surface.   I know that he will be loved and that, eventually we will have him as healthy as he can be , both physically and  emotionally. It's just that there has to be so much to go through for him until he is there. I know that. I know that meeting us in China will only be the newest hurdle in his life. This constant influx of emotions cause this deep, deep need to MOVE, to prepare, to GO . . . then you have to back down. You have to stand down and live with the fact that any real preparation has to wait until only China knows when. It's exhausting. Mostly it's me here, worrying about his well fare there. Me here grieving his grief.

This whole let's-distract-ourselves-from-the-wait-by-completely-redoing-the-whole-downstairs-area? Not so bright of an idea after all. Like Les said "We effectively removed any scrap of comfort we had left." Nowhere to relax. No couch or chairs--it's all moved and stored away so the floors could get done. Eating on the kitchen floor, living in the basement? Fun. Hey it will all look awesome though and I am so glad that we did it before we got home with the walking 2 year old. 

There is also joy. Unimaginable joy. In my daughter. In the thoughts of the son to come. In my husband. I am looking forward to getting the house done and then we will have, for the first time  ever, a house that is exactly how we want it. In my family who understands this journey so much and who is always ready to listen to me dream and cry. 

I think it's living with the two extremes of human emotion in my heart, every moment of the day that wears me out so much. 

I start to worry that I am morbid. Morose. Depresssive. Then I read other blogs with posts like Loss or Pretty picture and I see that no, I am where we all are.

Waiting and exhausted. Joyful and sad. Ready and waiting.

My heart a-tangle of all the good and all the grief and me here in the center trying to make sense of it all.
And get dinner on the table.