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Time won't let me go

"I am so homesick now for someone that I never knew.
I am so homesick now for someplace I will never be.
Time won't let me go; time won't let me go..."
-Time Won't Let Me Go by the Bravery



I posted awhile ago about getting "a little help from my friends." Lately, I've really needed a little help from my friends. I have felt so stuck with this past miscarriage and molar pregnancy. I feel so sad about losing this baby and I feel so disappointed we have to wait to start trying again (thankfully, not wait as long as we were originally told, read "3 weeks, 3 months"). There is a weight on my chest and I feel like I'm going through the motions.

Yesterday I took the boys to the park and let them play in the woods. They had so much fun running around together and playing. I sat down against a tree, leaned back, and let the sun shine on my face. The foliage kept whispering in front of the sun beams as the wind blew threw the trees. I felt the sunlight flicker against eyelids. It was so relaxing to just be, to hear the boys playing around me and need to do nothing but enjoy the moment.

It has been hard to talk to people about what's going on. Posting on my blog is one thing. I'm not even sure how many people I know actually read my blog and I've enjoyed writing about it. Talking about it is another thing. I feel my voice start quivering or I wonder if I'm using the wrong words or if I'm offending my listener. What is their story? Are my struggles acceptable to talk about? What if they repeat what I'm telling them and people start gossiping about me? I start doubting myself and feeling self-conscious for wanting to talk about my raw, open feelings. I wonder if I'm letting the right person in. Why are adult problems so complicated? Are they actually that complicated or am I making them complicated?

Sometimes I find myself thinking about my best friends who live so far away. I love talking on the phone with them and hearing the raw emotion in their voice, how much they care about me and feeling that surge of love because I know how much I care about them. I long to sit on their couches and sip a cup of coffee while we just be together. It is so nice to be around best friends that know-- know what you are going through inside and out, not just the "big thing" but all the little things that are making the big thing worse. I know they are praying for me and thinking about me, just as I pray for them and think about them. Distance, though... the distance is still there. We can't change distance.

And I can't change what happened. I can't turn back time and look at the ultrasound screen and see a healthy baby. I can't change that my husband is swamped in school. I can't change that the toddlers are two and suffering through "#toddlerproblems," as Honest Toddler calls them. I can't change the busyness of day to day life with three kids. I can't change that my family lives so far away and that it is a road trip to get a hug from my mom (though I can shamelessly "borrow" all the things from her that remind me of her). Ugh, and I can't change this wretched molar pregnancy diagnosis.

What I can do is talk about it. I have reached out to my local friends; I'm going out on a limb. I'm doing what makes me uncomfortable and letting people in. I need to let people in. It's a risk, but a risk worth taking. I've found out that others have gone through similar things, some things more heart-wrenching than what I've experienced. I was talking to a friend who was telling me about her mindset, or way of thinking, when dealing with life challenges. Sometimes she finds that she's approaching the problem with the wrong attitude, which really struck a chord with me. I feel like I'm just focusing on what I can't change. I need to move on. I need to acknowledge my loss and... and something. I'm not sure what the something is yet.

When we lost our first baby in pregnancy #1, I woke up in the middle of the night and pulled out the box of baby clothes I had bought during the pregnancy. I laid all the layettes and onsies out on the floor, thinking of the baby that would never wear them. I held the empty clothes and wept. When our first born came home from the hospital, I thought of that first baby, the one that was never born, how old that baby would have been. That baby has never left my heart, but I've accepted the loss. I think I just need time. Time to pass and lessen the sadness. When I think of this last pregnancy, I just think of what will never be, what isn't anymore. It feels like a loss only real and present in my heart. I'm afraid if I let it go that it will be like it didn't happen.

So, at the risk of sounding redundant, I haven't move on yet. I'm trying to get to the place that I can let go and that I can embrace the present. I've found some comfort in talking to my local friends about the loss and hearing their stories. I've found a lot of comfort in praying about it and journaling about it. I've found more and more comfort in loving on my boys and going through the motions of family life.
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