Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Life is a Trigger

You may have noticed that it's been winter all year here at Conceiving Hope.

Sometimes life is permeated with a grey, foggy haze that doesn't lift. That's the best way to describe 2016. The death of a parent. The death of another child. The death of an aunt. The death of a friend. A new diagnosis - this time a disease brought on by pregnancy itself. And so winter wasn't coming, it just never left.

I'm mostly still back at January 22nd, even now. Remembering every bit of that morning before I knew my world had changed.... remembering a peace that was a lie. Freshly fallen snow that morning, a hot cup of tea, a slow start to the day, and time spent soaking it in. Yet far away, the loss of a parent in those same moments. It's strikes me even now how eerily silent it was that morning. Hauntingly so, as crystals formed, and snow flakes settled and everything in the world was frozen for a moment...

Grief is a strange sensation. Like the snow that morning, it is mostly silent - but discernibly there. And after the snow, it's even like the feel of sticky morning dew on bare skin in springtime. Or like a thick, hot breath inwards on a particularly humid summer evening. Or that first crisp scent of Autumn in the air that catches your nose.

They are all so distinct, aren't they? Familiar, yet new. Recognizable, yet different. There, yet not really. The deafening quiet of that snowy morning and particularly the change of the seasons this year are some of the most poignant to me still, as I think back on the loss. The world kept going, but I did not. And loss upon loss, I became numb. I didn't even keep up motions in my numbness. I just was. Or am. Or something...

In 2016, all of life has seemed a trigger. Maybe it's hope delayed? Or maybe this is some Phoenix metaphor where I have to be burned to ashes before some dramatic rebirth. Perhaps my Hashimoto's is conjuring up exactly that scenario. I'm not sure, nor does it really matter much which it is. I just am. Or whatever is left of me, anyway.

Losing a parent is so very different than losing a child. Almost everyone can relate to one, and very few can relate to the other. Yes, losing a parent is expected at some point, but even in the shared experience - the reality of it is utterly unique and unshareable.

I buried my father on my birthday. And since the year I was born, it always snows that day. It did that day too. I'm not sure how it's 8 months past that day already, but it is. I'm still in winter, stuck in January, and the rest of you kept going.

13 comments:

  1. Winter in your life and in your heart. As after every winter Spring will surprise you again. Very soon hope and happiness will cast the fog away and bring again a warm feeling in your life. I just stumbled on your blog today but sending you my prayers and a virtual big hug. God bless you.

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  2. I am so sorry for your many losses. It sounds like you are in your "dark night". Pray through it, and keep trusting even if you get no answer. It will end eventually, as all winters do. I will be praying for you.

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  3. Prayers for you. I am so sorry for your many losses this year. No advice, just prayers and hugs.

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  4. Praying for you. Thank you for sharing. *hugs and peace*

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  5. I'm so very sorry for these losses, especially the passing of your father.

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  6. Oh I am so sorry to hear about your dad and losing another baby. I can imagine the thickness of your grief. There are some seasons of grief I have also "woken up" and realized everyone is so far ahead of me. You are most definitely in my prayers.

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  7. I am so sorry to hear about the death of your father and another baby. You are still in there, and they are with you, too, though it's not the way anyone would want it. Keep breathing, keep being. Prayers and hugs! (CatholicMutt)

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  8. Thinking of you, Conceiving Hope. I'm so sorry for your losses. I remember being very numb after my father passed away also, and it took years to be able to really open my eyes to the world around me again. I cannot imagine the compounded grief of losing your babies, too. Heaven is so full of those we love ... Praying for you during these difficult times.

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  9. Losing a parent is so very different than losing a child. Almost everyone can relate to one, and very few can relate to the other. Yes, losing a parent is expected at some point, but even in the shared experience - the reality of it is utterly unique and unshareable..nice blog!Thanks for share! http://edenrose.com.vn/nha-vuon-lien-ke-the-eden-rose-thanh-liet/,http://edenrose.com.vn/,http://edenrose.com.vn/vi-tri-du-an-the-eden-rose-thanh-liet/,http://edenrose.com.vn/gioi-thieu-du-an-the-eden-rose/,http://edenrose.com.vn/biet-thu-eden-rose-thanh-liet/

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  10. I am so sorry for all of your losses. I can somewhat relate to the darkness that can overwhelm us. I/we know we can never conceive and I buried my father on my 5 year wedding anniversary. All I could think of on that day, in particular, was how he walked me down the aisle on my wedding day and here I am processing his body down the aisle just 5 years later. Doesn't seem real, yet so it is....blessings to you and thank you for sharing your heart with all of us suffering this disease of infertility and loss.

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