Well, I just wrote a nice long post about this week and the visitors we had, but my browser crashed, and now I'm too grumpy to re-write the whole thing.

Here's the abridged version:

My sister Becky visited Monday - Thursday. We had some great conversations and fun hanging out. I miss having her nearby. (I didn't take any pictures with my camera while she was here, but I know she took some with her point-and-shoot. I'd like to get the same one she has...I don't tend to lug the DSLR around as often).

Rachel, Ben, and Sam visited Thursday - Saturday. I had a lot of fun with the boys, and they were so good. Sammy is an amazingly happy baby, and Ben is gregarious and hilarious. It was also great catching up with my good friend, Rachel. I miss her. (To see some pictures of the boys, click on the 'Recent Photos' on the left.)

Today, our house is quiet. It has been great having some quality time with Drew, but it is difficult coming down from the excitement of such great visitors and kids in the house. I am very thankful for the visits, though. Thank you, guys, for coming.

Now, we are looking forward to a shortened week for the holiday. Then, on Sunday (Drew's birthday), I fly out to D.C. for a public relations conference. It's too bad I have to leave on Drew's special day, but I am looking forward to the conference itself.

-Em

I have been asked by many of you about how I'm doing...since our most recent disappointment during this baby-making journey. I am OK. I'm sorry if I worried anyone. I wasn't doing so good for a while, but I have (mostly) turned the corner and am picking myself back up and moving on. Yes, we are taking a break from fertility treatments...we need to regroup emotionally and financially...all of this has taken a huge toll in both areas. We are still paying for my surgery in February (shit, that was expensive), not to mention the procedures that've been done since. My goodness, the bills. We were really hoping that having that cyst removed from my fallopian tube would be the key to enabling us to become pregnant, but that just hasn't been the case. It is disappointing for sure, and leads us back to believing that, again, there is more that's wrong with me.

I just wanted you all to know that we are alive, keeping very busy with work (I will be teaching my first university-level technical and business writing classes this fall, so I am busy developing those courses), and trying to just enjoy our summer. I love West Michigan in the summer...feels almost like we don't need to take a vacation elsewhere!

Hope this finds you all well.

-Em

Fine. You win, infertility. You've beaten me down yet again, hard. Some couples can endure this for 10 years, 5 years...I guess my breaking point is 2.5 years.

I'm out.

-Em

It's a term I didn't even know existed until recently: shadow babies. I always knew about this "phenomenon," the sometimes-painful realization at seeing babies who are around the same age LJ would now be. It started right away, after I returned to work after the miscarriage. Women who I'd been pregnant "with" were still pregnant. My belly was deflated, and the first glimpses of these women in all their glowing fertileness rendered me unable to breathe. As their pregnant bellies continued to grow, I regained my ability to breathe (or, gasp!, speak to them), though I'm not sure it ever became easy. Finally, the pregnancy announcements started to come.

I now regularly check the blogs of the parents of some of these shadow babies. I look at the photos of those beautiful, smiling four- and five-month olds, and I imagine what our own baby would've looked like, what new milestone she'd be going through.

Some days, peeking in on LJ's shadow babies hurts like hell, and I just look at pictures and cry, think of LJ, and mourn all over again.

Other days, peeking in on them allows an unspeakable joy to well up inside me.

I can continue to be sad for myself--for us--and be joyful for these other parents (thank goodness). I can look at the precious babies and imagine LJ, in heaven--whole and healthy and radiant and beautiful. These shadow babies will always be important to me--they are just one way for me to keep LJ alive in my heart.

-Em

I read this passage from a post on A Glow in the Woods today and found myself relating to it all too well. Here's an excerpt:

"I read Deborah Davis’ Empty Cradle, Broken Heart: Surviving the Death of Your Baby about 4-6 weeks after Maddy died.  I found it . . . redundant.  I guess it was nice knowing I didn’t exist in a void, but confirming that I’d be feeling . . . exactly what I was feeling?  Thanks?  I guess?

But there was a gem in there that helped me significantly, and rolls around in my head to this day.  I’m sorry I can’t quote it verbatim because I sent off my book to another grieving mom, but it went something like this:  it’s actually a good thing that the major decisions we make during the time from hell are made while we’re sleep deprived and loopy and trying to juggle a million different balls and exhausted from crying because that way, they come from the gut.  Davis suggests that it’s a good thing we don’t over-think the major decisions, and that instead, because of our circumstances, they come from somewhere subconscious rather than based on intellectual reasoning."

I have often wondered how much LJ's death influenced the major life decision I made last year to resign from my job of 6+ years. I do remember--after finally returning to work after the long road to healing--thinking "this can't go on for much longer." All the stupid shit that plagued my thoughts every day ("Are people following the process?" "Are people reading the documentation?" Will anyone attend this UCD session?" "And who the eff cares, anyway?") seemed completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I knew that I needed a new career--a new life--in which I felt like I was making a difference and helping people. Though I am not in a classroom with students every day, working in education has been more rewarding than I could've ever imagined. People's gratitude for an article I've written to publicize their role/work, a program, or an event amazes me. Not only do I get to really, truly write every day, but people appreciate that I do my job. Imagine! Being thanked, regularly, for doing what you get paid to do. Imagine! Getting pulled aside by co-workers who "just wanted to tell you that news release was fantastic." Some days it doesn't seem real; it seems almost too good to be true: I get to do what I enjoy, and people are grateful for it. How is this possible?

When I resigned in October, I felt a lot of mixed emotions. It would be weird not working at the same company as Drew anymore (he has since left for a different company, though, too, so no biggie there, anymore). I never quite accomplished all that I hoped I could at that company (though I am realizing getting re-orged every couple of years made that nearly impossible, anyway). I didn't want to leave my colleagues high and dry (they hired a replacement relatively quickly, and from what I hear, she is probably a better fit in that position than I ever was in the first place). As time has gone by, all of these unsettling feelings have been put to rest. Things have worked out. For the better. On both sides. I am a happier person. I don't hate my job.

Why does it sometimes take a tragedy for us to have the rawness of emotion--or is it just the courage?--needed to make the difficult decisions? I think part of me must have felt as though, "My God, I somehow survived the loss of a child, why the hell couldn't I survive a job change?"

I guess I can thank my LJ for that. Thank you, little one, for giving Mama courage.

-Em