This one is coming from the emotional gut.
As opposed to the gut that is filled with Entenmann’s Chocolate Pound Cake that my always unquestioning husband picked up for me after reading my pleading text that simply said: SOMETHING PLAIN AND CHOCOLATE. This has been a week of shitty news. And for me, the eternally glass-half-full kind of girl, that says a lot.
I have this friend who has been trying to get pregnant. After too many to count failed donor egg cycles, she finally got a positive! Hormone numbers soared. Ultrasounds looked good. Rinse and repeat. She was finally truly pregnant. She started to let the realization and excitement sink in. She began to let herself daydream about all the hand-me-downs she’d be showered with from all her relatives and friends.
Then she started to bleed. And then it got worse a few days later. She texted me on Sunday that she had lost the pregnancy. This fertility cycle was their last chance. I went into the bathroom after reading her message and cried. I even threw up a little.
I know her pain too well. And there’s nothing I can say or do.
There was an accident in my town on Saturday night. The kind of accident that stops your heart if you’re a parent or a kid. A young teenage girl was hit by a car and killed. I saw her photo in my scroll of local news. Beautiful beyond belief. My heart pumped harder as I read the news stories. The cliché lump in my throat appeared as I thought about her parents.
Knowing firsthand the world they were about to enter, I felt it all over again.
Losing a child in an accident. The suddenness. The instantaneous. The “one second everything is status quo the next second your world has changed forever” feeling. And you would give anything to go back to those blissful minutes of normalcy right before and freeze that time.
I have these two ladies who are customers in the wine store where I work. A mother/daughter team. Both blonde and bubbly and totally fun. We’ve become friends over the years. In real life and on Facebook. They reminded me of the best times I’d had with my own mother. The times my father or brothers never got to see. Just us. We were the only two girls in the family. We had to sneak our relationship in sometimes. I wish I’d had more of those times with my mother. But watching Lara and Lee interact reminded me of the best memories.
On Friday, I saw the Facebook post. Lee, Lara’s mom, had suddenly died. This one hurt. This one resonated with me. I hurt for Lara. I will truly miss seeing Lee. I will miss seeing them together. Sometimes we just say we will miss someone. Some people mirror parts of ourselves. This one felt like a really pretty little jewel encrusted compact, just big enough to check your lipstick, had shattered.
When I was a little version of me, my mother would always tell me that I got too caught up in other people’s lives. She would tell me I can’t solve their problems or fix whatever was broken in their world. She would tell me to concentrate on myself. It’s so funny to think back on that advice as an adult and a mother myself. As parents, we foster empathy. We encourage caring and concern for others’ feelings and space. We respect differences and customs and even weird habits. I know my mother was trying to protect me from getting lost in all the sad things I would eventually see. I know she wanted to keep me simple and happy for as long as possible.
But I sometimes wonder if she knew just how deeply I would feel? I wonder if she could see a young version of me caving under too much at once?
This was a week that made me think about going back on my Zoloft. This was a week that all I could think about was time. Having enough damn time to do everything I want to do. Because no matter if you lay out your clothes the night before, make everyone’s lunches right after dinner, or find the easiest hairstyle and makeup routine that gets you ready in four minutes — there is simply no guarantee of time.
This was a week that nothing particularly bad happened to my family or ME. But I felt it all just as powerfully nonetheless. My co-humans at this point, feel you. I sincerely, deeply, feel you.