Well That Took a Turn

  It’s been a hot minute since I posted. Life has changed in every single way it possibly could. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about some of those changes, but overall I'd say they've been okay.

I wanted to post because I am embarking on a new journey and I want to keep track of it. I've decided I'm going to become a single mom by choice. I don't know how, yet. That's the journey part.

Even though Jon and I have been separated for 5 years, and divorced for 1, I was still holding out hope that we could get back together and make it work. I had decided I would be okay without having kids and I'm in a much healthier place mentally and emotionally, so I thought we could make it work. But he has decided that that's not something he's interested in, and so now I'm trying to figure out Plan B. 

I want a partner. I don't know necessarily if I want a *spouse*. I'm not ruling it out, but I'm not banking on it, either. But a partner, though. That would be nice. I want to share my life with someone more than just a cat--as wonderful as she is. (Thanks for waking me up at 3:30 every morning and not letting me go back to sleep.) But like. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to and spend time with and enjoy. But that just hasn't happened, and I don't know when it will happen or how it will happen. I don't know how to meet people--my social circle is so small. Maybe volunteering somewhere will help broaden that, but there's no guarantee and I don't know what else to do. 

Enter Alternative. What if... I had a kid. Since I was a teen I wanted to be a mom, and although the last year or so I wasn't sure if I still did, the desire is cropping back up. There are a lot of hinderances, not the least of which is the sperm part. It's expensive to get pregnant; it's even more expensive to have a kid. I have a lot of trauma from James. I'd be giving up my "freedom." I'd have to wake up early and often and be sleep deprived and overwhelmed. But despite all that, whenever I think about it, I get excited. Any time I talk to someone about it, I can't help but smile. 

I have a lot of blog posts I want to write. My thought process and overcoming the reasons not to; possibilities for insemination; trauma triggers that I anticipate will be difficult; and each step of my journey as I move through it. I'd like to document the process and eventually turn this into another baby bumpdate blog. 

So, buckle up. The road's about to get bumpy (hopefully that will eventually become a double entendre.)

I'm Just Going To Leave This Here, Because Sometimes I Need a Reminder

When I Fell In Love

I wrote this Sunday morning, August 23 2015 as I was spending a weekend away with Jon. We were listening through the playlist that we played at James' funeral. Christina Perri's A Thousand Years started playing, and this post started to take shape. It took me a while to finish it, but the few people I've shared it with found it pretty powerful, so I thought I'd post it. I hope this helps everyone to get a small glimpse of what we've gone through. 



It's a curious thing to lose a child through full-term stillbirth. It's not until after the baby is dead that you realize that you have loved this baby since you were able to love at all. Your life has been leading up to this moment. You wanted that child since you could plan for your future. That baby was one of the first things on your list. And since that moment, not the moment of conception, or of getting a positive pregnancy test, but since you realized you wanted a baby, THAT'S when you fell in love. Years pass, and you love this baby that you'll have someday. You get married. You start trying for a baby. You seek medical intervention, and suddenly, you get your baby. And then that baby is inexplicably and irrevocably gone. And while your mind understands, your heart sure as hell doesn't. And at the funeral, you want to open his tiny coffin to see him one last time, or just grab the whole thing altogether and run, but you don't. Because even those acts of desperation, of lunacy, can't bring him back. But oh, how your body aches for him. Literally and figuratively. Arms ache to hold, lips to kiss, eyes to see, and heart to keep. But also your body is torn after the hardest labor of all: of giving birth to one you know is already gone. You dread having your milk come in, because it's another reminder of the baby that is gone. And then you're scared the milk will dry up, because it's one of the last reminders of the baby that is gone.

Weeks pass. All too soon it's a new calendar month, and you can't imagine how you're going to make it a whole month without him. And then Thanksgiving and Christmas come and go, and what used to be happy times are suddenly too much to bear. And then it's New Years, and you realize your baby will never live in this year, and unreasonably you're sad for this year, that it will never know your baby. Soon you've been without your baby for "twenty f****** weeks." And then the dreaded day when he has been dead longer than he was alive. Your birthday, new babies being born without major complications, Sundays, the 24th of each month, your original "due date:" all are foreboding and oppressive, yet are only the foothills to the mountain you must climb at the one year mark. A year to the day since you last felt your baby move. A year to the day your baby died. The day he should have turned one. But it's not just those days; they're all two-fold. Firstly because on that specific day something bad happened, but also because of what happened on that specific date.

This last year, nothing has been simple. Do I have the energy to clean the house; to make dinner; to brush my teeth? Is it worth getting dressed?   How do I stop getting mad at everything? It's an entirely new skill set, learning to cope through loss. How to be vulnerable to those whom you love and trust, when it hurts them as it helps all. How to be a parent on a technicality. No one wants that. How to be gracious and kind to those whose problems seem so petty now. Nothing is easy and it just gets harder.

This year I have seen the face of God. How can I not, since I have been camped at the foot of the cross? I have seen his love, and grace, and mercy, here in the "Valley of the Shadow of Death." By his help I am climbing this insurmountable summit. One day at a time, one step at a time, one breath at a time, sometimes even one moment at a time.

And some day, I will cross to the other side with my arms stretched out, with a smile on my face, and I will see and hold my son for only the second time, and he will see and hold me for the first time, and we will gaze long and lovingly into each others' eyes. Oh, how I long for that day. 

I am sorry for the couple of swear words. I really feel as though they convey my feelings and emotions in a way I couldn't otherwise capture. The reason "twenty f****** weeks" is in quotations is because I wrote a [very angry] diary entry at that point, and there was quite a bit of harsh language, because I could not think of any other way to show my feelings. As a rule, I do not swear, but on occasion I find there is nothing else to say. So I do apologize. But twenty weeks was a hard place for me to be.

I also want to add that the one year anniversary was not nearly as hard as I anticipated, and I believe a lot of that is due to my family and their love and support. Last week we went to the cemetery and said good-bye again; we also wrote messages on balloons and released them into the sky. This was more symbolic and healing than I thought it would be. But I believe the sentiment I felt and expressed about the one-year mark can be applied to any year; any time. Whether it be two years, five years, ten years, or seventeen years, it is still a mountain to climb, and the longer I climb it, the steeper it will get.

How I Can Be a Christian and Still Support Gay Marriage + A Caveat

I am going to try to write this succinctly, but still be clear. So let's see how it goes.

I am going to make a series of statements, and then I will do my best to explain them.

I am glad for the legalization of gay marriage. I think it is wrong to deny them that right. I disagree with it being on a federal level. I do not agree with a gay lifestyle, but I want them to be treated fairly. I believe that "marriage" as defined by God can be, and is, different than "marriage" as defined by the state.

First. I am glad for the legalization of marriage; and, I think it is wrong to deny them that right. Denying a human being of a right to something based on their sexual orientation is the same as denying someone a right based on their skin color. Or religion. Or what have you. To say that, because they aren't married, a "spouse" can't see a loved one in a hospital, or have the right to inherit an estate, because you denied them the right and the opportunity to become that spouse, is wrong. We have no right to deny someone something and then punish them for not being able to do it.

However, I disagree with it on a federal level. I believe our government is too big. It has too much control. I wish it was a state decision. Just like legalizing marijuana is a state decision. (Side note: I believe marijuana should be legalized in all states, as well.) I think it is our government's duty to inform us (or at least make the information available so that we can inform ourselves, such as labeling GMOs, as well as other things like that) but not to make decisions for us, such as mandating vaccines, etc. Now, I realize that the government is not MANDATING that gays get married, and I think you would agree with me that if they did, that, too, would be wrong. But that's not the issue here. The issue is that our federal government is too big, and the rights should have been left in the states' hands.

I do not agree with a gay lifestyle. I believe it goes against the teachings in the Bible, and I believe the Bible. I am a Bible-thumper, a Bible-believing Christian, a conservative... whatever you want to call me. I am not close-minded, or bigoted, or ignorant, or stupid. Not agreeing with their lifestyle choice does not mean that I want them to be treated as lesser humans. They still should be treated fairly. And that involves allowing them to get married, should they choose to do that.

How can I say all the above things while still being a Bible-thumper? I believe that marriage as defined by God is different than marriage as defined by the state. Marriage, as defined by the Bible, is between one man and one woman. It is a picture of Jesus, the bridegroom, and the Church, his bride. It is holy; it is sacred. It is a commitment. The federal definition of marriage is a piece of paper. It is a legal document. I agree that government should give that piece of paper to whatever two people want it. Personally, I believe that Jon and I got "married" twice. The first time was our "spiritual" or "religious" marriage. It was when we committed ourselves to each other. When we decided we were going to get married; when we said our vows and told each other we would love each other for the rest of our lives. The second "marriage" was when we signed the legal document, the legal marriage certificate. I believe that gays should be able to get married in the eyes of the state. I do not believe that qualifies as marriage in the eyes of God, because although they are committed to one another, they are not one man and one woman, as it says marriage is in the Bible.


It is not my intent in this post to to accuse, or condemn, or judge, anyone. My purpose is to explain my beliefs; to give my two cents. I am not trying to change anyone's opinion. I am trying to mitigate some of the anger and injustice that people feel, on both sides of this argument. If you don't agree with me, that's fine. But please, remain civil in your comments. No one appreciates or listens to or gives credence to someone who is being rude, calling names, or being mean. You will not changes someone's opinion by insulting them.

If Wishes Were Horses...

I wish losing a child left visible scars. I wish that when people see me walking through the grocery store and I look mad, upset, or like I'm trying not to cry, that they won't judge me. That they wouldn't tell me to just smile, to cheer up, to have a great day. I wish the could look at me, and see my frown, and that they could be kind but not patronizing; that they could understand without me having to tell them, that MOST DAYS ARE NOT GREAT DAYS. Instead of me shoving down the hurt a little further, pretending I'm not just okay, but happy and care-free, that I could be myself and be... sad. Mad. Maybe a little bit insane. Buy my cookies, donuts and cake in peace. Because sometimes I can't. I can't cope. I can't be happy. I can't even pretend to be happy.

I just wish people could know, without me having to say.




I wish I had my James.




If wishes were horses, then beggars could ride.

Technically...

Mother's Day. Father's Day. Celebrating those who give their lives to the wonders they've created. 

What happens when those babies die? Particularly when it's the only child.

People are very quick to tell Jon and me that we're still parents. And while technically we agree, we don't, really.

You see, we don't want to be parents on a technicality. 

Yes, we had a baby. HAD. We are not parenting. We don't live our lives catering to a baby; we don't HAVE a baby.

I may be a mother, but I am not mothering.

Jon is a father. But he isn't fathering.

We are parents on a technicality. And that just sucks.

UPDATE TO 3 STEPS TO PEACE

[Typed Wednesday, June 3]

If you haven't read my "3 Steps to Peace" post yet, do so by clicking here.

If you HAVE read my "3 Steps to Peace" post, you know how I was late for my period, and was hoping I was pregnant.

I'm not.

I started spotting Sunday, it stopped early Monday, and then started up again late Monday night. Tuesday I had spotting on and off all day, and Wednesday my flow picked up a bit, to what I would consider my period, but it was lighter than typical and didn't last as long as usual. But given it was so late (almost a whole week!) and I'm never late, as well as some other factors, I am pretty sure it was a miscarriage. It's impossible to say for sure, however, because I never got a positive test. I asked the doctor, and she said it could have been a pregnancy, but that since I never got a positive test, something had interrupted the natural progression of the pregnancy and therefore there was nothing we could have done to prevent the miscarriage, if that's what it was.

Jon and I are treating it that way.

I am doing okay with that. I was proactive in talking with the doctor, and feel there is nothing I did wrong or any way I could have changed the outcome. And never getting a positive test makes it a little less real. Jon made the comment that if I had gotten a positive, and THEN we miscarried, it would have made it a lot harder. I agree. So over all, I'm not too upset about it, which may sound harsh, but I just don't have the energy right now.

We have since done a follicle study (ultrasound of eggs as they're getting ready to ovulate) and the doctor was very optimistic. We did an IUI that day, and are now in the "two week wait." I am not sure if I will update right away or not, once we know whether or not it was successful. Jon says he feels optimistic. I do not.

It's so hard, being on this end of infertility and then childloss. There are so many dynamics; so much emotion. Please pray for me.