This weekend we've received some much-needed rain, which has also brought with it cool temperatures. As I sit in my big oversized chair next to the open window, I can hear the sound of rain falling being replaced by the chirps and calls of all sorts of birds--full of energy and refreshed after a break from the showers.

Yesterday, Drew and I went to our company picnic, held at Michigan's Adventure this year. We ventured out with our friends Becky and Abby. Both of us couples had originally planned not to go, feeling silly walking around a small-scale amusement park without any kids to make it novel or particularly fun. In retrospect, I'm glad we went...and we did actually have some fun. Becky and Abby have been helpful in getting the two of us out of the house these past few weeks--I guess their operation "Get Out and Do Things" is rubbing off on us? I hope.

Things are "fine" here. I guess that's the best way to describe it. I am finally feeling back to "normal" physically, which I'm very thankful for. I had no idea it would take me as long as it did. Just another one of those surprises, another learning experience to file away. Drew is recovering from a terrible cut across his thumb. At the end of July, he sliced through a tendon in his left hand, and knicked another, sharpening a kitchen knife. The cut was so deep he had to go to the ER and get stitches, and they referred him to a hand specialist in GR. The specialist said surgery was necessary, and he went through that early last week. He got his cast off Friday and was fitted with a special brace that he'll have to wear for several more weeks while the tendons heal. He starts physical therapy in a couple of weeks. We are both thankful that there wasn't more damage, and that it didn't happen to his right hand, but I know it's been difficult for Drew not being able to do as much. In some ways, I think his injury has helped me a bit, actually. As soon as it happened, I had to switch to concerned wife nursing the injured, and it helped me focus less on my own problems.

Besides the healing we've been doing, there really isn't a lot to report. I wish I could say I've been taking pictures, doing a ton of reading and writing, and focusing on other activities that keep me busy and from thinking too much. Instead, I spend a lot of time watching TV and spacing out. My thoughts so often take me away from reality, and there are many days when I still don't feel "all there." I have struggled with concentrating at work, too. Some days are better than others, though. Some days go by and I feel almost normal. Some days every moment seems like a struggle...I'll run into a person at work I haven't seen in several weeks and they'll give me that confused look--from face, down to belly, back to face, the silent question hanging between us in the air. I'll see all the women who were pregnant "with" me and still are, their bellies growing bigger every day. Those encounters are the most difficult for me, but I'm learning how to keep the tears bottled up a little better. I still rely on that tissue box next to my PC monitor at work more than I should, but usually I can play it off and say, "My allergies sure are bothering me today."

As I listen to the sounds of nature, happily cleansed, out my window and smell the wonderful aroma of Drew's pot roast in the oven, I feel closer to a fresh start. Perhaps I will be able to do more again soon, or at least be interested in the possibility, of starting out clean.

-Em

Recently I was reading a book in which two mothers who had lost children were discussing how they dealt with their grief. One of the women said to the other, "I feel guilty even saying this out loud, but I've gotten to the point, years after my son died, that I can see the ways in which his death has been a blessing." She went on to describe how she and her husband's marriage was tested and, subsequently, strengthened (there's that word again), how she and her extended family were brought closer together in the wake of the tragedy, and how they went on to have another son who later brought joy back into their lives.

I'm not going to pretend I'm that enlightened yet, three weeks after learning we lost our baby-to-be. It's hard to see any possible blessings that have come from what we certainly feel is our own personal tragedy. What I can see, however, is how truly blessed I already am. I have the most amazing friends and family, who have continuously called me, written, and made damn sure I don't completely fade into oblivion, alone with the rage and bitterness I've certainly felt on and off over the past few weeks.

I wish I could sit here tonight and tell you that you won't see any more posts here in which I come across as a very angry person. I cannot guarantee that I won't still have my angry and bitter moments as I continue to work through this, make sense of this.

But today, I have mostly felt like...things will be okay. I've been able to smile and and laugh and feel genuinely happy for friends' good news. I've been able to actually concentrate on, and make good progress at, work today, even working through a mini-crisis without it feeling too completely overwhelming for me to handle (which has certainly been the case in days not so long past). I've seen some of that intangible thing called hope hovering out there on the edge of the horizon...not quite within grasp, but with the promise of someday, perhaps soon, being reachable.

A couple of friends have talked candidly about hope with me in the past few weeks. One said, "If there's one thing I do know, it's that grieving takes time before it turns to hope." I appreciated that thought so much. It made me feel as if I'm not a horrible person for lashing out to whomever happens to stumble upon my dark thoughts, written at night when I can't sleep, with the knowledge I wouldn't sleep until I ranted to "someone" (albeit no one in particular) instead of the pages of a journal never to be read by anyone. I guess sometimes you just want to feel as if your feelings have been acknowledged. Listened to, if not agreed with or understood. That they're valid, simply because they were authentic at the time you experienced them...even if they're not the preferred feelings, the ones that people are comfortable with. For me, I think the only way to come out the other end, where that hope patiently waits, is to make my way through the full spectrum of thoughts--good and bad.

Another said, through her empathetic tears, "Just promise me, no matter how hard it is, that you'll never lose hope."  I will promise her that, I will. No matter how angry or bitter I feel, as I continue to work my way through the cycles of grief, I know that I won't shut out hope. I know how very badly I want to be a mother to a child (or children). It is something that is so inherent to the person I am, that there is no way I can let go of the dream, no matter the obstacles we encounter along the way.

Yet another friend told me about a statement she read, which was, "God isn't punishing you, you just haven't gotten your reward yet." The more I think about it, the more it speaks to me. It's not that I really feel that God is punishing me with the loss of the baby, I don't think of God being spiteful that way. But I feel comfort in knowing that, as I see others around me receiving their well-deserved rewards, it does not mean that we won't someday get ours. That, right there, is something to hope for.

-Em