The Odd Life

While dropping off some library books last night, I stumbled across a movie I had never heard of: The Odd Life of Timothy Green. I scanned the description and it sounded relatively intriguing so I thought I'd give it a watch. Jennifer Garner plays the female lead and while the acting is pretty sub-par, within a few minutes it is evident why I had been drawn to the movie in the first place. It's about a couple who, after many years of infertility treatments, is told they cannot have children. After receiving this devastating news, the husband asks if, for just one night, they can pretend they DO have a child. They spend the evening in their living room writing down every attribute they could ever hope or dream their child to have, even pretending they witness their kid's game-winning goal. They take each attribute -- written on an individual piece of notebook paper -- place them in a wooden box, and bury the box in the backyard, after which they agree to move on.

Rip my heart out, why don't you?

I don't think you can really appreciate the power of that scene unless you've been through infertility. Because it is the burying of one's hopes and dreams (if even temporarily) that is, at least for me, one of the hardest hurdles of this journey. It's like burying a piece of yourself. No, it's not LIKE you are, you ARE.

Throughout this journey, we bury many things. At least I did/have. For the benefit of the general public, we bury our true feelings. We plaster smiles on our faces when all we really want to do is cry, run, hide, scream, rant and rave. We quite unceremoniously bury bits and pieces of ourselves along this rocky path: our pride (being poked and prodded on a fairly regular basis can do that to a person), our self-esteem, self-confidence, body image, self-worth, our once good-natured selves. We bury {read: spend without result} thousands upon thousands of dollars. As aforementioned, we bury our hopes and dreams and we HOPE we can somehow find the strength within ourselves to regain what we've lost. With hard work, patience, love and the realization that I was worth more than just my ability or inability to create life, I have regained much of what I've buried over the last 5+ years but there are still frayed ends that need mending. I'll get to them, I know I will, but it won't be easy. Nothing about this journey is easy.

Back to the movie. The plot continues to unfold but it was THAT scene that made me pause the movie and open my laptop to write this post. It made me cry, it made me sad, it ignited feelings within myself that I've been wrestling with for years. And it made me think. I've often wondered what our child would be like, which attributes he or she would inherit, and which things would be uniquely their own, the combination of which would be imperfectly perfect. Even in the movie, they acknowledge that even if you could pick and choose what your child would be like, you wouldn't want a truly "perfect" child, because, well, I think we all know that it doesn't exist, and thank goodness for that. It's the imperfections that teach us, that mold us, that help us grow and make us who we truly are. 

Anyway, the scene made me think. And normally when I think, I write. But I can't write it all. I tried. I sat down with the full intention of writing out what I envision our child would be like but I couldn't. My words, which I have come to rely on to process what I'm feeling and help me properly explain my emotions and share them with others, failed me. It turns out that there are certain things that cannot be put in to words; special, cherished things that are perhaps better off living in our dreams, if only for safe keeping. The image of our child is one such thing. 

For now, I suppose I will keep that image of our child safe in my mind. And maybe one day, that image will materialize into reality, a dream come true in every sense of the word.