Who the heck knows what CD I'm on and I don't care

How's that for a break in titling scheme?

This is my 100th post. Never did I think that this blog would survive one hundred entries. I also never dreamed that it would see me through 3 miscarriages and a divorce. But it did. And you know what? It's ok. I'm not broken. I'm battle scarred and bruised, but those are wounds that can heal.

I am also much stronger than I ever imagined.

The last few weeks I have been feeling a steady shift. I am calm and carefree. I'm meeting peoples eyes as I walk by them on the street and smiling. That light that I haven't been able to see for so many years is shining bright. I see it now. And it fills me with so much (dare I say it) ... hope.

I walked into Cindy's office yesterday. She said, "Tutti, what's going on with you?! You are... twinkling!'

She's right. I am.

I'm driving to my new home across country with a very good friend of mine (this one actually). It's going to be an epic road trip filled with girlie adventure, Rt. 66 memorabilia, and a drooling dog. My friend has taken it on as her new life's mission to put together the most amazing playlist for us to listen to while driving the open road. It's like a soundtrack to a movie that hasn't been filmed yet. Every morning she emails me a  'teaser' to listen to. I look forward to these and turn the volume up with reckless abandon while trying to imagine where we'll be next time its played: stopped at the edge of the crater of the Grand Canyon at sunset? Driving through the desert of the Navajo reservation? Watching the the skyline of NYC emerge on the horizon?

I've come to realize that for the last few years, my life has been... silent. I've only heard the white noise of stress and grief buzzing in the background. But now, the music is back on. It's pumping. It makes me feel so much. The 'play' button has been pressed. And now all I want to do is dance.

_________________


I'm going to take a small break from blogging. I plan to return once I move and get settled into my new home. It may be as long as a few weeks, maybe even months. As selfish as I feel saying it, I just have to concentrate on me right now.

I hate that I left you all so suddenly. It upsets me not knowing where you are- celebrating, waiting, mourning? I'm so, so sorry. It's not because I want to; I hope you all know that. Each one of you and your stories are very important to me. I carry you guys with me everywhere I go. I continue to hope for all of you.

Cycle 23, CD 2

I wish that I had been able to chronicle the events of the last month so that maybe someday I could look back on it and reflect, maybe allow for some extra processing, and not keep you guys in the lurch. But it has just been too intense. I simultaneously feel like each day goes by in blink and like each day is a long battle that has no end.

At some point I owe you all an explanation of what happened. Why my marriage failed. What went so horribly wrong. But right now I'm still too close to it. It's still too raw. The betrayal and anger are coloring my world too vividly right now. I need distance and a bit of perspective to be able to dissect it better. Please bare with me for a bit.

Logistically things are moving forward very quickly. I have filed the preliminary divorce paperwork. Mike has signed. Our home went on the market two weeks ago. By some miracle, we are already in escrow. If things continue to work as they should, my home will be occupied by its new owners within the next few weeks. The cogs are in motion.

A friend asked me a simple question the other day, "How are things going over there?" I used humor in an analogy. I told her that if a priest came to my door, he would immediately douse it in holy water because the evil energy is so palpable. I think a hefty dose of garlic might be in order too- you know, just in case. Sometimes you need to laugh in the face of pain. In a normal divorce (is there such a thing?) one or both people move out immediately. But due to finances, neither of us were able to do that. We have been, and continue to, live under the same roof. It is a hell I don't wish on anyone. My days are lived in dread of  hearing that front door lock un-hitch and seeing Mike walk in.

I used to think this was the man I would live my life with forever. Love unconditionally. Be the father of my children. But now he has morphed into the man that makes my stomach lurch and feel the raw emotion of hatred. How is that even possible?

Last Sunday I went to breakfast with a good girlfriend of mine. We were supposed to go shopping but got too caught up in our migas and Bloody Marys on the beach. I had wanted to get some new Converse sneakers for the long road trip back east (my new landing spot), but it didn't happen. Toes in the sand, a bit of numbing alcohol, and the warm sun on our faces seemed too good to rip away from. No regrets; we had a wonderful, healing afternoon together. So much better than retail therapy.

But tonight as I stepped out to walk the dog, I was surprised to find a package on my doorstep. It wasn't something I ordered, but it had my name on it. Confused, I gingerly pried it open. The box contained a brand new pair of bright red Converse. I was immediately hit by a sense of overwhelming... love... friendship... compassion... understanding.

Kind of like the symbolic socks that Cristy sent me after my last miscarriage, I immediately knew that these were more than just new bad-ass new sneakers. These were a modern version of my own ruby reds. And they are going to take me home.

All I need to do now, is click my heels.

Recovery: day 22

Last night I spoke to a friend of mine, the same one I talked about in this post. We don't communicate often, but she sent me an email the other day to see how things were going. Because she has endured 7 failed IVF cycles and 6 unsuccessful pregnancies, I told her about my miscarriage. She and her husband decided to stop trying a few years ago and live without children. However, as she said, that decision doesn't automatically eliminate the sting of each new pregnancy announcement or make not having a baby in her arms any less painful. It doesn't mean she's able to fill that void with something else. It was a conversation that was not without tears, but offered some healing.

From where she stands now, she has a lot of insight into her fertility journey. She's careful with what she says because she knows this process is my own and doesn't want to influence that. But what she did say, made so much sense. She listened compassionately, she validated my feelings, and more than anything, she understood.

One of the things we talked about was my struggle with the ultra sound images that keep me awake at night. How badly they hurt and how I feel like all the monitoring and watching my baby grow has made healing so much harder. She paused and confirmed that is how she had felt each time she miscarried too. But then went on to say that she feels differently about it now. That those images are the only things that she has to hang on to. They are the only tangible reminders of the babies she loved so much. And instead of trying to not remember, she embraces each pregnancy that she had. Because even though they were fleeting, those were her children.

I sat with this all night.

And my friend is right. I'm glad I have those images to return to. Whether they be the ones burned into my memory or the ones I have tucked into my desk drawer. It's true they cause me pain now, but they are the only things that I have. And after all of this, I am thankful for my baby. She taught me what it feels like to be pregnant. She showed me what it was to love someone I'd never even met. And that, yes, I want to continue fight to be a mother. She was worth the pain I'm feeling. Even if she can't be here with me now.

I also took the advice that many of you left me- that I find a way to honor this pregnancy. Something, in addition to the photos, to hold on to. I spent a lot of time thinking about this and finally settled on a necklace. It wasn't easy to find, but when I did- I immediately felt it. It's an egg shaped piece of sea glass wrapped in a tangle of wire. With her zodiac sign being Pisces, it reminds me of the ocean, the waters that I live by, and where the fish swim. It's unique, and beautiful, and will be a constant reminder of the little one I never got to hold in my arms, but that will forever be in my heart.

PICTURE REMOVED

I am still raw. I still hurt every day. But I'm mending. And maybe gaining a little perspective along the way.