Three Years

Three years ago today, Zappa called to tell me Mom was dead.  Three years.  And we’re still no closer to having the baby she always wanted for us.  Her death and our infertility are forever intertwined, each influencing my feelings about the other.  Besides missing my mom, this day is just another reminder of time moving forward while we seem to be standing still.

Sometimes it feels like this is it, this is how our life will always be: Hubby unemployed, living in the student ghetto, and with no children.  Ever.

And it scares the shit out of me.

*  *  *

I confessed to my therapist that I haven’t talked to my dad since they left here and we got the news of the failed FET.  I just couldn’t picture myself crying to him or him offering any kind of comfort.  “If my mom were here,” I said, “it would be different.”  Dr. N asked me what I thought my mom would say.  It’s not so much what she would say.  I know there’s nothing she could say that would make this better, but she would listen to me cry and maybe say something like, “I’m sorry this is so hard.”  Because that’s what moms are for.

I did cry to Zappa on the phone today.  And she said something very close.  After all, she is a mom.

*  *  *

A couple of months ago, while we were undergoing treatments, I looked ahead to this day and thought, This year it will be easier.  At least I’ll be pregnant.  But I’m not pregnant.  And there’s nothing easy about any of it.

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19 thoughts on “Three Years

  1. Your life won’t always be like this. I really am clinging to the hope for all of us that as dark as these days seem, somehow (one way or another) we’ll find a way out. Maybe not always the way we think it will be, but a way out nonetheless. Sending hugs.

  2. Sending hugs and love to you! It is so hard to go through this journey without your mom (mine died when I was young)! Dads, sisters, aunts, etc are awesome, but not the same.

  3. My aunt (with whom I lived most of my life, and who did not have children) passed away in 2009/2010, and it hit me hard. I started to worry about losing my parents; I started to worry about my husband, who is 14 years older than me, getting sick. I was trying to finish a damn dissertation that I had lost all motivation about. And of course, I knew we could not get pregnant unless we did IVF with ICSI, plus medications for my husband’s condition, and he did not want to do any of that. For so long I let my anxieties and fears get the best of me. I put on weight and I was unable to get a full night’s sleep, EVER. In fact, I probably stopped sleeping like a normal person (continuous sleep for 6 or more hours straight) for about 6-7 years. This December, I got into listening to The Power of Now, and to A New Earth, in addition to other spiritual texts. I still have to work on losing the weight, but I sleep again. I am still working as an adjunct (though I will be looking for unrelated work this summer), I still do not have children (I’m considering adoption once I have a regular job), but I am just a happier person overall. I garden (veggie and butterfly gardening), I juice, I got into birding recently, I love to read, I am writing fiction for fun. All my worries are there if I focus on them, I’ve just chosen not to, and worked really hard not to go there. I am terribly sorry for the loss of your mother. It sounds like you have an absolutely lovely family, and I hope you will continue to reach out to them for support. My guess is that you are much younger than DH and I, and I am sure that though you might feel that you are in some sort of “rut” unable to move on… that this will not be the case for long. “This too shall pass”… it always does one way or the other. I am sending you a cyber hug and hoping that you will find happiness where you are right now.

  4. I know there are no words that will make it easier, but please know I am thinking of you and sending so much love. Huge hugs to you as you remember your mother; even if she’s not physcially with you, she remains a big part of your life today. I really believe that.

  5. I’m sorry. Sending you love and big hugs. Even though she isn’t physically here, I believe that the spirit still watches over their loved ones. But it’s still hard. I hope you soon find some comfort.

  6. I’ve had countless moments in my life when I’ve thought those same words… this is it. But it never is… life has a funny way of surprising you. You just have to hang in there, as tough as it is. Thinking of you during this difficult time…

  7. There’s nothing I could say that hasn’t already been said but just wanted to add that I am so sorry for the loss of your mom. My heart hurts for you.

  8. I’m so so sorry. I too share your pain of mommyloss. Mine has been gone for almost 18 years. I cried last night about missing her. It gets better, but there will always be a massive hole.

  9. I’m sorry this comment is late. I’m sorry you have to deal with this anniversary on top of everything else. I hope the universe sends you something wonderful soon. xoxo

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