Blessed are they that mourn

"Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted."

No one likes to see themselves as ugly.  Especially when we are presenting ourselves to the world.  We put on our best face.  We smile.  We tell about the good things.  We look for silver linings and cling to them no matter how fleeting.  But then life catches up.  The silver linings, while still there, are difficult to see for the reality that looms so impossibly large before our eyes, demanding to be dealt with.  Looked at, embraced, picked apart.  Reality demands, and needs, attention.

I'm pretty good at fooling myself.  Preparing for the worst so that when it comes I can take it all in stride.  It never really works though.  Oh it does for awhile, and most importantly it works in public.  When people ask how I'm doing I can readily look them in the eye and say "Just fine, and how are you?"

Now, I want you to know that I am fine.  Really and truly, because mourning and crying and dealing are all things that make sure that I'm fine.

Our last round of IUI did not work.  This was in no way, shape, or form a surprise.  Completely expected.  We found out about two weeks ago and it was taken in stride.  There is a plan in place to continue moving forward and there didn't seem to be reason to mourn an all too familiar loss.  In fact, it almost didn't effect me at all.  I felt like I had grown.  Like I had finally gotten a hold of these emotions of mine and could "soldier on".

Until today that is.  Or really yesterday.

I have so very much enjoyed this week.  Things have been moving along quite nicely at work.  My husband is wonderful and we've been able to support each other in so many different ways this week.  My stress has lessened and life is looking brighter.  I've been feeling really good about everything.

And then someone asked a question.  About children.  About whether or not we've considered going to a doctor since we didn't have kids yet.  I about fell over.  It made me wonder what kind of conclusions had been drawn about me.  It made me want to give a dry sarcastic laugh and set the record straight, end the conversation, and exit as quickly as possible.  Instead I said "yes, many times, many doctors, no explanation just more money, and yes we are approved for adoption as well", the quick in a nut shell explanation.

I was asked again, later in the day if I had children and an even briefer explanation was given.  I felt pretty blue the rest of the day.  Blue enough to settle for left over macaroni and cheese for dinner.

And then there was this morning.  I got up to exercise and get those endorphins going because "endorphins make you happy and happy people just don't kill their husbands." (name that movie) I exercised, I sweat, I worked out my frustrations, and then I sat on the couch and cried.  Cried for the loss that I didn't feel two weeks ago.  Cried at the unexplainedness of it all.  Cried because I feel old and I'm worried that if I ever do get children that I won't know what to do.  That I'll be out of patience, that my mother instincts have been so buried by the last 15 years that they may not surface.  Worried by how dead I feel inside sometimes.

My New Year's Resolution this year is moderation.  Well, you can't have the good without the bad.  Dark times make you appreciate the sunshine even more.  Spring will really come eventually.  Those silver linings really are out there.  But for a few moments, I need to deal with my reality.  Ask the questions, formulate the answers, get a better grip of what I'm dealing with so I can go forward.

I know that mine is not the worst situation.  I know it.  There are so many wonderful people out there that I am connected with that have their own little private "hell" that has inserted itself into their lives.  Things that don't have easy answers and sometimes make for awkward conversation.

Mourning is a necessary part of this life.  We can only receive the needed comfort if we truly allow ourselves to mourn, to feel, to accept.  That is when God can step in and lighten our path. There is hope, there is always hope. Perhaps it will be easier to see tomorrow. But for today I might just wallow in my misery, swim in it till I get all pruny (name that movie!) and then move on tomorrow, better for having done so.

I feel a little like this today. Spiky with a few blossoms. This was taken at the greenhouse shoot.