One thing I have learned well through the journey of infertility, as well as adoption, is that control, is a complete illusion. Perhaps the difference for those of us who have journeyed down these paths is that we no longer have any illusion about the illusion of control.
You see, control is a bit like stepping into the fun house at the county fair and trying to convince ourselves that the reflection we see in the mirror is real. It’s a much safer bet to use our tickets to enjoy the ride on the ferris wheel, leaning into the comfort of the knowledge that the operator will let us on and off at the right time.
So, disillusioned as we are, why do so many of us still head for the fun house?
It’s this little thing called hope. Because even though the mirrors may reflect back a skewed version of reality, they still give us glimpses of ourselves, of who we can become.
And so it is with control, the illusion gives us hope. And hope keeps us afloat when we feel as though we are tied to a sinking raft in the Atlantic of life. Hope floats.
So while today the reality of losing our daughter after three months, three fourths of her little life, was made more real than ever, I’m clinging to my raft in the county fair fun house. I’m holding onto hope, and I’m holding onto her. Because the other option is sinking, and that is not a option.