I don’t write much anymore. In some ways it seems quite strange as this virtual space and I were daily bedfellows for such a long span of my life. And then, life just simply took over and in many ways I moved on from infertility. Though I suppose we never really move on from infertility. It lingers under our skin like a rare parasite we picked up on an exotic vacation that can never be completely eradicated.
My life has pushed onward. I accepted the offer to go back to work full time, my career catapulting, which was suppose to make me happy, but it didn’t.
I made peace with losing two years of my life’s work on my dissertation, and eight years of work on my PhD. I accepted an EdS bookend to a very excruciating chapter of my life, even though the ending meant no fanfare, no celebration, nothing to mark all of the years of my life that I gave to this failure.
I showed up for friends who needed someone to show up. I called, I wrote, I cooked, I cleaned, I shopped.
I completed months of paperwork for our adoption. I attended the mandatory courses, one of which made me feel smaller and less significant than possibly any other experience in my life. I bared my soul in the first adoption interview, and I stressed over how to fit the second and third in with all of the other things on my long “to do” list.
And then the lights went out. Literally.
“Frankenstorm Sandy” hit the east coast, and along with it our lives were turned upside down—for the second year in a row right on our anniversary—sending us driving seven hours home when we should have been having breakfast in bed.
And so now, five days without power later, I find myself wondering, is it really darkest before the dawn? Or is it simply always dark and we keep the light of hope lit within for a dawn that never seems to come?
I want to be positive. I want to keep going. I want to glide into the party tonight with my little black dress on and my hope chest filled to overflowing. But I can’t, because inside it’s dark and some days I’m just not sure that there really is a dawn.