Friday, April 25, 2008

Pallanca



When I was in college, I attended two spiritual/religious retreats. A special part of those retreats were letters called "Pallancas." They were meant to be pulleys/levers to bring up the spirit. I guess a part of me is seeking that with my Wondering post.

I thank all of you who responded and for those who didn't but have left me comments in the past - you have provided me many pallancas, unknowningly, for all most two years. I value your words more than I can say.

The other reason for that post is that lately, I feel slighted, judged, and misplaced. Not by anyone has commented here. But, in other blogs, with family, by life and I don't know where I belong. I am far from over this thing called infertility. And yet, I don't belong with people deep in the trenches. I didn't go as far as IVF - eventhough I feel like I've felt my fair share of pain. My problem is when anyone tries to compare or quantify pain - I tend to loose. But, alas, isn't that my problem.

My mind keeps on going back to last August and my Grandfather's funeral. My Aunt was talking to my Grandfather's sister-in-law (his second marriage). They were talking about her pending grandchild. How she waited a long while for her daughter, and my Aunt chimes in "It took my daughter a while too." I couldn't help it, my eyes bugged out of my head and I was nearly yelling, "Really that was a long time! She has a beautiful boy in her arms in less than a year. But that was a long time!" But instead I stayed quiet and I let the quantification occur because she had an early miscarriage.

Later the next day, when we were burying our Grandfather, we passed a beautiful statue. (I wish I had a photo.) It was in memorium of all children who were miscarried. My cousin made a comment because she wanted to vocalize her pain.

I yearned for a place to mourn the children of my dreams. But did it in silence. Those scenes replay in my head. I sometimes feel that they are in constant replay.

This blog, from its creation, has been the place for my mourning. Please don't take this offensively, because I am very appreciative of this space. But I am only allowed to mourn with strangers. I've never been allowed to have a service or even talk about it with my mother and not have it all about me.

Goodness, what was suppose to be a post to thank, it has turned into a post of "woes is me."

Sadly, I can't explain it - but here I don't have too. Here I can say, thank you for listening to me. Thank you for being my pallancas in this place of great solitude. Thank you for allowing me to grieve without quanitification or judgment.

13 comments:

Heather said...

I understand. The only people who let me be sad and be completely me, are people who I have never met.

Even those who haven't miscarried need to mourn the children who might have been. But I think that society doesn't understand unless you have given birth to a child and it dies. They don't even get people who need to have a service to memorialize their child who died so early in pregnancy. It isn't fair.

loribeth said...

I too find that I can be more open in cyberspace. And I agree with Heather... you have still lost something & I think you're entitled to grieve that loss, even if the "real" world doesn't understand. (((hugs)))

Erin said...

My heart aches that you aren't able to have the love and support of family for the losses that you have suffered; at the same time, I feel exactly the same way about it being easier to open up to strangers than to family and friends. I am glad you have this blog to mourn and get support.

The Town Criers said...

This is the line I keep returning to:
"This blog, from its creation, has been the place for my mourning. Please don't take this offensively, because I am very appreciative of this space. But I am only allowed to mourn with strangers. I've never been allowed to have a service or even talk about it with my mother and not have it all about me."

It reminds me of that passage in Waiting for Daisy when she's searching down the Jizo statue, needing ritual, something tangible. Needing to talk about it.

Sweetie, this is a safe space. Mourn. Talk it out.

Samantha said...

Thank you, for having this wonderful blog that we've all been privileged to read. I am honored that we are here to mourn together, even as it is so sad.

CAM said...

That was a great post and spoke to the feelings that we all have about our blogging. I feel like it is the one "safe" place where all of you actually get it. We are all in mourning together - even though we are all strangers - we are tied so close together by the same sadness. Pure sadness.

Kenna said...

To echo everyone elses feelings, I too have found the most comfort in my grief via my blog and gals like you who have felt the pain. I don't talk about it to anyone else, parents, in laws, and I have found that my blog is the only place where I can let myself feel the things I fear but need to feel anyway.

Piccinigirl said...

I feel so lucky to be able to stand in this space with you. I want you to always feel safe in opening up in this space/your space.
It took my mom a good 2 years to allow me to grieve the IF we were suffering and really listen to the words I needed to say. So I understand that sometimes even the people closest to us IRL don't understand, can't understand.
I am thankful everyday for this community, these women who don't know me IRL, but who understand my heart better than anyone. You are one of them and I will always be here for you.
*hug*

Sticky Bun said...

You are so right--one of the hardest things about IF is not feeling like you have the space or the permission to grieve. But it's so important. It is a loss and it is painful.

I'm glad you have this space, and I'm so glad to have had the opportunity to share your ongoing journey.

Pamela Jeanne said...

You're not alone. I get great comfort in reading (and sharing) the thoughts and emotions experienced as a result of IF. It's so reassuring to know that there are those who understand. Keep writing and sharing...it's your honesty that brings such power to your posts.

Mrs. B said...

That's what we are here for. To listen. To listen without condemning. To listen when no-one else can. And to listen when no-one else understands.

I'm glad that we can be here for you.

Sara said...

This is a beautiful post.

Hugs.

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