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. 

Time Marches On

Sometimes, it's all I can do to keep my positive attitude about where we are in this journey, keep my focus on the present and not get caught up in the unknown of the future. The more time that passes, the more children are born, and my Facebook and Instagram feeds are filled to the brim with the shiny, happy, beautiful faces of the children of our family and friends. Sometimes, it's all I can do to just keep it all in and keep it together. Other times, I'm doing pretty well and I find myself truthfully, blissfully content with how our life is now, the predictability and reliability of daily routines, the closeness that we share. But these moments of weakness sneak up on me, they get me down, and they seem harder and harder to shake off as time marches on. We've been yearning for our family for over six years now, dreaming about it for even longer if you count the years before we started trying. In total, since we made the decision to start trying to build our family way back in February of 2008, we have been on this road to baby for 74 months. Wow, that number even blows ME away, and I've been living it. The baby we lost in November of 2011 would turn two next month. Two whole years old. How I ache for that child, our child.

This is our life and what we've been dealt is what is meant for us. We may not always see why or agree, but that's the way it is.

There is an incredible future waiting for us. I need to trust in that. On the days when I doubt it, that's when I need to believe it the most. Besides, I am more than just my uterus.

So, here's to unknown futures and the belief that something incredible -- something miraculous -- could be just a year, a month, a week, a day, a mere moment away.