Two years ago today, on February 11th, 2010, my life dramatically changed. In the matter of an hour, the innocence I had once held, was stolen from me in a rush of blood. I went on to experience an all-encompassing grief that I had yet to know. It’s taken me two years and two additional losses to even come close to recovering from that night. And in many ways, I know I never fully will, nor do I want to. It’s too much a part of who I am now. Of who I’ve become.
I had lost a pregnancy prior to then, but I lost it before I even knew there was something to lose. And for me, that made all the difference in the world. I was sad, but was able to move on quickly because I figured it was just a fluke. As soon as I got that positive pregnancy test that next January, the hope of what was to come, took me over. We were going to have a baby. Everything else that had once mattered, no longer did. That was it. And now as I look to becoming pregnant for the fifth time in the next coming months, that hope that was once there has been been squashed, trampled, twisted and abused. Left out in the cold and unloved. I fear hope possibly more than I fear another loss.
Because with hope, the fall is so much further.
But it creeps in, no matter how hard I push it away. That’s what happens when you want a family with every ounce of your soul. Hope is a resilient little thing, constantly finding the cracks in your hand-built cement wall.
Except I’m onto you, hope. I know you change forms and wear masks. I know that if hope of a baby of our own doesn’t happen, that the hope will change paths. I will create an entirely new hope for an entirely different road, one that might bring happiness in a different form. That’s the difference between now and then, that’s what 2 years and 4 losses has given me. And if the hope of a baby from Tim and I is taken away for a fifth time, I’ll be ready to follow it in a new direction. I’ll succumb to the loss of this dream for the chance of a new one. I wasn’t ready two years ago today. I wasn’t ready to face a plan that was bigger than my plan. I wasn’t ready to let go.
I’m proud of the woman this experience has forced me to become. I’m stronger and more compassionate – not just of others, but finally, of myself. I’ve learned to let go of the control in this space, I finally know it’s out of my hands. And if that took two years and four losses to get to, I’m thankful for it finally arriving.
Because there is a plan bigger than my plan. And I’m ready to believe in it.