In the week since I last posted, the moments where I feel ok are getting longer. I know that it takes time and it's normal to have so many ups and downs- but going through it, feeling every minute of it it, is harder than those words sound. Before infertility and loss I never met a roller coaster I didn't love. I want off this one.
Sass touched on something in her post today that I've been thinking about a lot lately. The link between memories and place. How just being somewhere or seeing something can turn you upside down. To have those old memories come smashing back seemingly out of nowhere.
Last week I had my post-op checkup. Sitting quietly in the waiting room of my RE's office I was overwhelmed with memories. I have experienced the highest moments of my life there. And the lowest. The disparity between the two is daunting. It's amazing that one place can hold so much. So much that it's hard to filter through those feelings logically.
Last weekend I found myself at the local pharmacy. I needed a new headband because my dog mistook my old one for something good to eat. The store was crowded so I walked along the parimeter trying to make my way over to where I needed to be. Without realizing it until I was there, the family planning section attacked me. A place I'd spent so much time and money in the past, but also where I bought my last HPT. I was in a good mood until then.
Yesterday my husband and I went swimming in the ocean. Summer is officially over and we had the beach to ourselves. It felt good to have the sun touch my skin again. To let the waves crash over me. To taste the salt on my lips. The water was cold but exhilarating. And then a shocking realization flooded over me; the last time we were there, I was pregnant.
Today I'm going out with an old friend after work. One that I'd lost track of for the last 13 years. Through chance and good luck, we found ourselves living in the same city again- thousands of miles from where we'd parted. When we reunited last month, I attempted to blame the hot weather and long car ride home for my inability to drink the wine she had so neatly set on the table. It didn't work and she quickly guessed the real reason. So later today as we are sitting out in the sun, chatting easily like we always do, the wine that I sip will be bitter.
We are rooted in our sense of place. It's where memories are stored. The events from last week to time that has not even happened yet, paralyze me. I know my wounds are still fresh, but will the emotions ever be less poignant?