I had been at a business reception for work, and was really struggling to hold myself together. There were just a lot of people around, and it had been a long day, and all I really wanted was to be home in my bed.
All I really wanted was to be hiding out from life.
When I finally left, I felt exhausted. Worn out from what should have been a fairly standard day for me. I sat in my car before going anywhere, and just needed to decompress. So, I decided to check my e-mail before leaving.
And, I kind of got kicked in the gut.
My cousin, who I love and adore, had written me to tell me that she was pregnant. She was going to announce it on Facebook the day I found out I wasn’t pregnant, but then had held off when she got my news. She was 8 weeks along now, and she wanted me to hear it from her first; rather than seeing it on Facebook or hearing it second hand.
You see, my cousin has PCOS. She has struggled for this pregnancy. She has experienced the failure month after month, and the sting of finding out someone else is pregnant when you yourself want it so badly. She knew I would be hurt by her news, even though I didn’t want to be. She knew I needed to be able to take it in privately, and she understood my pain.
But in the same sentence as I say that, she also deserved to be happy about this news. She deserved to be elated by it. She shouldn’t have been having to think about me and my pain during what should have been the happiest moment of her life. I actually hate that she had to censor herself and her excitement out of concern for my feelings.
Even as I felt and knew all of that though, I burst into tears. I can’t even explain it; this hurt I felt. I was just so sad. So angry that it wasn’t me with the happy news.
And so mad at myself for feeling that way.
I have always said that I never want to be the woman who begrudges another woman her pregnancy. I know deep down in my heart that someone else being pregnant doesn’t make me any less so. I believe that all pregnancies are miracles, and that they deserve to be celebrated as such.
So what was this? Who was this? When had I become the person who sobbed over someone else’s good news? Especially someone I love; someone who I know will make an amazing parent?
As soon as I pulled myself together, I realized that something needed to change. I realized that I needed to do something to find myself again. I realized that something needed to kick me back on track.
Thus, I drove to the tattoo parlor.
I had been thinking about getting something new since I received the news on Monday (in truth, I had been wanting something new since I got my last tattoos), so while it wasn’t the weeks (or even years) of planning that went into my wrists, it wasn’t totally spur of the moment either. Although, if there had been any openings, I would have gotten my new ink right then and there - even as the tears were still streaming down my face. Unfortunately though, the soonest they could get me in was last night at 5. I drove home in anticipation of what was to come.
And last night, I got a new tattoo:
I love it. I really really love it.
I have never been a huge fan of my feet (and that warped pinky toe is the result of far too many breaks - graceful I am not), but I love this.
It’s the reminder I needed of who I am and who I want to be. The same is true of my wrists actually, and when I told my grandmother I needed a reminder when I got those; she asked me what was wrong with post-its.
But post-its aren’t permanent. They aren’t the kick in the butt I need.
This is.
When I got my tattoos on my wrists, I promised myself I would wait at least a year before getting another. I loved them so much, that I knew if I let myself I would become a walking tattoo billboard. OK, not exactly true, because I am very picky about where I would even want a tattoo (and am totally against anything anywhere that might stretch at some point! Which pretty much leaves me with only the feet and wrists!) but I knew I would have gotten more right away, and I wanted to give myself time to adjust to my new ink. When I remembered that promise to myself Thursday night, I pulled up the old pictures to see the date I had gotten them last year – just to make sure it actually had been a year.
July 26th, 2009.
For those of you who are paying attention, that means I got my wrist tattoos done exactly a year prior, to the day, that I found out I wasn’t pregnant.
And to me, there is something to that. Something that makes me even more determined to keep those reminders in mind as I navigate through this mine field of grief.
Also, it means my new tattoo came a few days after my original year mark; so I don’t have to feel guilty about it, because I didn’t break any of my own rules!
After the tattoo excursion, I made one other stop. I swung by Home Depot, and ordered up some new flooring for my condo. I had been putting this off because of the expense, but really? My condo is only 780 square feet. It was silly to keep putting it off, and I’ve said from the beginning that I would never want a baby crawling around on my current flooring (which is just very old – plus, carpet throughout the entire house isn’t exactly the best thing to have in the middle of winter in Alaska – having laminate in the living area at least will make a huge difference in keeping this place nice and clean). This will give me a project to throw myself into for the next few weeks – something to be excited about. Something new to take my mind off of the something lost.
If I couldn’t have a baby this round, at least I can have a new tattoo and some new flooring.
At least I can prepare my house that much more for the baby that is still to come.
A friend reminded me of a post I had written at the end of last year. It was the post of a girl determined. A post that was admittedly full of a few profanities, but illustrated my refusal to give up. My refusal to succumb to life’s circumstance.
It was just another reminder of who I really am; deep down inside and past the grief of this recent hurdle.
I refuse to live in this funk. I refuse to be anything other than that girl. I still have questions. I still have worries. I still have sadness. I’m sure all of that will still crop up from time to time in this space; in fact, I have no doubt of it. There is actually something I’ve been thinking about a lot that is probably going to come out tomorrow; something that involves me questioning myself more than anyone or anything else.
I don’t want to give the impression that I will be joyously looking past the last few days from here on out, because it isn’t true. But I refuse to be a person who can’t acknowledge that there is always a purpose. I refuse to be someone who forgets that sometimes the most beautiful rainbows crop up out of the most disastrous storms. I may not know why this last round didn’t work, but I do know that:
There is always a reason.
