Then I got an email from a dear friend. It was a link to a website that gives advice to people. A lady wrote in about how she was struggling after her daughter's stillbirth.
(If you want to read the whole thing, you can read it here. If you don't like the f*bomb or whatever, don't read it.)
You will never stop loving your daughter. You will never forget her. You will always know her name. But she will always be dead. Nobody can intervene and make that right and nobody will. Nobody can take it back with silence or push it away with words. Nobody will protect you from your suffering. You can't cry it away or eat it away or starve it away or walk it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. It's just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desires to heal. Therapists and friends and other people who live on Planet My Baby Died can help you along the way, but the healing- the genuine healing, the actual real deal down-on-your-knees-in-the-mud-change- is entirely and absolutely up to you.
And this is what I was kind of saying yesterday. I could wallow in this forever. But, I can't. I won't. I have to move on and heal and find my best and happiest dreams.
And that is what I'm
Running in the direction of my dreams.
Even though that place has, what feels like, a gazillion roadblocks in the way.
(Appointments, surgeries, injections, procedures, pills, blood draws, labs, timing)
I have to keep truckin'.
Even though it seems completely unfair that this journey is so difficult for us.
I have to keep moving.
Even though it seems so easy for so many other people.
Because if I don't?
If I don't keep moving in the direction of my dreams?
I am giving up on my family. And myself.
So I will keep making the phone calls to the clinic.
And the trips to the clinic.
And I will keep up with the shots and the pills.
And the stirrups multiple times a week.
And the surgeries and procedures.
And the blood draws at the lab.
It's what I have to do for my family.
And millions of other women have done it.
And have survived.
And have reached their dreams.
They may have taken a completely different path than they expected.
But they did it.
And I will, too.
I have to.