It’s Easter and I don’t consider myself a religious person by any means, haven’t for a very long time. But it is a holiday that families get together to celebrate and this year it’s been upended by the coronavirus outbreak. People are still making it work with virtual calls to their family, and for that I am glad technology exists.
I can’t help thinking about the life I could have had if the past three years hadn’t gone so sideways. April of 2017 was our third cycle of trying for our first kid. I had everything tracked and ready, knew exactly what to time and when. And we did it, by the beginning of May I had my first positive pregnancy test and I bought little soccer shoes to give to Dan to tell him. Our excitement was short-lived when the first ultrasound revealed no shape, no heartbeat. Three surgeries and almost a year later I’d learn the embryo likely implanted on a uterine septum I didn’t know I had. But the scarring from the first two surgeries had done their damage, and when we finally had some breathing room the walls caved in with Dan’s terminal cancer diagnosis.
Now in the second of year of life without Dan, I’m sitting at our kitchen table, in the midst of a pandemic, thinking about how if both bad situations had never happened we’d be walking around our back yard with our 2 year old, helping him or her find the eggs, taking pictures and video along the way. We’d be sending them to family and posting on social media with everyone else. It’s so weird to vividly see that life in contrast to the one I actually have right now. Solo with two cats yet a great support system, but still smacked by grief every now and then.
I know I’m never going to be “over this.” I know the healing process is not linear and parts of me will never fully heal. I know not everyone is going to understand or be able to handle that, I sure don’t expect anyone to carry me through this. I know I have to walk it on my own, continuing to figure out what this life is going to become. I know I’ll eventually find myself in a place and state where the earthquakes don’t rattle me so much and I can steady myself through the tremors. I’m not sure when that will be or what it will look like, and time seems to be moving so slow right now.
I’m looking forward to the day I can safely hug another human being again and not worry about getting them sick. I look forward to playing on the pitch with my friends and yelling when the ref makes a bad call, knowing I picked up too much from Dan’s years of reffing to not say anything. I look forward to getting back to the things that were helping me cope and pick up the pieces of my sideways life, and finding out just who I am going to be for the rest of it.