Friday, April 25, 2008
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.