I’m sitting here with a hot cup of coffee (cream only, hotter the better) thinking about how it’s been a week since I’ve written on here. I’m not sure why.
I feel left out of everything lately. Life in general. I’m the oddball out almost everywhere I go. I enrolled Bella in gymnastics last month, and two moms with babies sat and chatted about breastfeeding/formula/clothes/nights/etc the whole time. It was so hard to hear, then on top of it little baby whimpers that sent me straight back to Children’s with Kaden. I had to get up and leave the room a few times (Bella was in another room completely).
The last day of it, I chose to sit a little ways away from them and could hear them whisper softly about how I thought I was better than them or something. It hurt so much. I wanted to unload my story on them both, watch their faces as they struggled to find something to say to me then. But I didn’t. I ignored them and their living babies and took Bella home at the end.
We start Girl Scouts next week. I was talking with the lead mom yesterday about it by phone, and she said, “The parents all stick around during the meetings, they’ve become such good friends.”
Great, was all I could think. I wonder when I’ll have to explain why I can’t hold their baby without crying while they dash to the restroom or that Bella isn’t my only child.
Everywhere I go, I live in two worlds. One foot in heaven. One here. Back and forth, bracing myself for comments that aren’t meant to be mean but hurt, questions that are completely normal and leave me reeling. I don’t know how else to get through this right now than just minimize pain while trying not to avoid it completely.
I’m different. Than just about everyone. I fear telling people my story because about the time I get to Kaden, they stop relating on any level. I see them wrestle with what to say, and I feel awful. It’s easier just to avoid telling it – but almost impossible to do that for longer than a first meeting.
I can’t even end on a good note. No, “But we’re adopting!” or “We’re trying again!” or anything. Just – this is my really sad story from the past two years.
Then I feel guilty because I have Bella – and angry because she shouldn’t have had to deal with this either. Or still.
I don’t know how to do this. I have no idea when life will reach a semi-normal status again, if I’ll ever be able to relate to another mom.
Honestly? I don’t know if I want normal anymore. There is a part of me that feels like because of what I’ve gone through, I don’t deserve to fall back into “normal”. I want a life that is on fire for Christ and others in such a way that normal doesn’t even come into play. One that exceeds my wildest expectations, not that it makes up for the loss of my boys, but gives it a purpose almost as big as what I lost.
- Write a bestseller.
- Become a missionary family.
- Travel the world helping people.
Maybe that’s crazy – but so is what I’ve dealt with. I want a life where I’m the oddball but in ways that bring a whole new meaning to what we’re going through. I sometimes think, “But what if that never happens? What if this is kind of it – maybe a few really cool things happen but life just plods along and eventually I’m old?”
Can that happen if you truly give your life to Christ? Does he look at some of us and say, “Thanks so much, I’m going to just have you live in a small suburban area, go to church, and be as close to normal as possible – even though that’s not your heart’s desire.”
I want my life to be impacting in a way that doesn’t leave me sad or feeling alone. In a way that draws me out of my own self pity wallow and into a totally different view – I’m not the only one suffering, the only one losing, the only one who wonders “Is this it?”
I have a chance to do some of this soon, and I’ll be able to share more next week. I don’t know what will happen with it, or where it will take me (if anywhere), but it’s coming. And it’s making me take a hard look at the comfortable world I know and the reality that this isn’t my home to be comfortable in. I want more because I’m supposed to – but what will that mean for this life?
Maybe I’ll be patient and see where this road is leading.
Or wait impatiently. That’s probably more realistic for me. Still waiting, just not as patiently as I should.