What Sarah Said

Christmas lights, snow falling under a street light at night, the sharp smell of winter, and a Kanye West album have all gotten twisted together in the deep neural pathways of my mind that lead straight to you. I cant think of any of these things independently of the others any more. They have become this whirlwind of sounds and feelings and colors with you sitting calmly at the center. Some of these make sense--you loved the holidays and always practically killed yourself to make sure everything was perfect even though you thought it never was no matter how many times you rearranged the tree. The one night in my adolescence when for the hell of it we decided to go walking around in the dead of winter because we both couldn't bear to sit inside watching the way the snow glimmered in the street lights without becoming a part of it. That was your idea and it made me so happy. Ive tried hard to figure out how an entire hip hop album got thrown into the mix as well. It wasn't even released until 2 years after your death, but somehow its there. Whatever emotions it stirs in me fit in with the themes of cold, darkness, colorful lights, glinting snow, a safe place to return to, that I now associate directly with who you were to me.

The morning you died, the nurse called to tell me to get down there as she thought it might be today. Looking back on it, I have no idea how she knew considering you were your normal lively self. Maybe your vitals were forecasting doom and gloom and she being a student of the secret language of the body could see things I couldn't see. Because you were still you. You weren't sitting feebly in bed with your eyes closed. You were talking, gesturing, joking, bitching about the hospital food. You were never someone I didn't recognize. I am grateful for that in a way. That your spark didn't go out until it was absolutely forced to.

When I close my own eyes and picture that day, I see the bright yellow leaves on a rain soaked street outside your hospital room. The grey clouds that covered everything. There was no sunshine. The wind was blowing and hinting at the coldness and darkness soon to come. And it fit. It fit because it was real and because the emptiness outside reflected the emptiness inside myself.

I will never regret being with you as you died. Watching someone die is the most beautiful and horrible thing. There is a sacredness to it. All I wanted, all I really truly wanted was to make sure you weren't afraid. I didn't want you to be scared to let go. So I spoke softly into your ear all the things I thought would help you be brave. I wonder over and over if you could still hear me at that point. I hope you could.

People tell me you are still around me. That you are in heaven smiling down. That you are Jacks guardian angel. That you went to a better place. I want to believe some of those things. I want to believe that the little things I see as signs that some part of you is still conscious that I am your daughter and that I miss you are actually you trying to reach out to me. But if I'm completely honest, all I can say is I don't know. I don't know if you are really there. Or if whatever is left of your spirit even remembers who I am. Its one of those things that I speak into the wind and have come to accept in the not knowing. For whatever reason, we aren't meant to know all the answers. Maybe we never will. What I do know is this: you taught me how to love. The love I show my children is like a whisper from a time when you were still here. Every kiss, every hug, every spoken Its going to be OK is as if you were still standing behind me. I see you in your grandson's smile. In his feistyness. In his unwillingness to back down. And amidst the frustration I laugh thinking of how much you'd love this kid.

So I will go to the place we laid you to rest. And I will sit on the grass and clean the stone and make sure I bring some really colorful fall arrangement that you wouldn't think was tacky. And I will honor the time we had together and the fact that you were my mother. And I will understand what that actually means for the first time as I think about how I feel about my own children. And I will say thank you. Thank you for being my mother. For giving me life. For loving me unconditionally. For being smart and funny and sarcastic and creative. Thank you for being who you were to me.

Infertility and You

I recently posted to a Mom group on facebook a question involving second pregnancies and stretch marks. The majority of the responses were helpful and nonjudgmental, but because this is the Internet, and people feel they can be assholes to complete strangers, one mother responded that "stretch marks are beautiful reminders of the privilege of carrying a life" in an effort to remind me of what a complete piece of shit I am for daring to desecrate the holy ground that is all things baby. 

That's bullshit. Because there are plenty of things about carrying a baby that aren't wonderful or charming or holy and it should be OK to talk about those things to other women. I understand that the main sentiment behind these stern reprimands is always that because I am able to conceive and carry a child I should just STFU and thank the heavens every day that I am not (hushed whisper) infertile. But what does this sentiment do for women who actually are struggling with infertility besides make them feel even more outcast and alone? Infertility is still, for the most part, a silent struggle for women all over the globe. Not acknowledging the shitty parts of pregnancy doesn't make infertility go away, nor does it do any favors for a woman who is aching to have her own child see nothing but gushing happy sentiments from pregnant people around her. Most people appreciate the genuineness and realness of others. Acting like every woman who is struggling to conceive is in a constant state of fragility akin to spun glass isn't only incorrect, it's insulting. 

I myself, took well over a year to conceive my first child, and we were already set up for specialized testing when my body finally said ok I'll hang on to this one. So while I cant claim to understand what it's like to go through years of dealing with all the emotions involved around infertility, nor do I know the heartache of being told that carrying my own child is not in the cards, I do have a tiny grasp of what it is like to want something so much that others around you seem to be able to grasp without a second thought or any effort at all. It sucks. It can be soul crushing. There are times when you feel like you are at the bottom of a well you will never escape from. On those days, yes, I wasn't my best self. And if I read anything pregnancy related on social media on that day, bad, negative, jealous thoughts would instantly fill my head. But that's not who I am all the time, and that's not how we should define women struggling with infertility. They are stronger than they themselves even realize. Their paths in life will lead them to endings they probably didn't foresee, but that are just as beautiful and fulfilling as the one they originally hoped for. 

So for the love of everything, don't hide your friends or sisters or aunts or cousins dealing with infertility in a box. They don't need your protection. They need your support, your compassion, and your willingness to listen, to not be afraid to be someone they can confide in about what they are going through. Respect their need to discuss and respect their need for silence. Follow their lead. And be ok with treating them like any other woman, aka, its ok to tell them that you aren't in love with your stretch marks and that the Pinterest boards devoted to glorifying Tiger Stripes make you roll your eyes as you struggle to find a pair of fucking yoga pants that fit. Yes Yoga pants. The kind that are made to stretch. Oye.

Infertility Support Links:

http://www.resolve.org/

http://www.fertilityauthority.com/articles/minneapolis-infertility-support

http://www.agiftofmiles.com/infertility-support/

http://fertilitysupportcenter.org/service-programs/infertility-services

1

Somewhere between 6:35 and 7:02 I begin to hear the sounds of rustling and tiny calls of nonsense coming from the monitor. It's funny to think that this piece of technology has been running almost nonstop for a year and a half. It's my link to the secret world of what you do in your room when we are away. It feels invasive and I know that at some point it will be turned off for a final time, put into some box or maybe given to a friend who now has need of its services, thankful for its glowing green eye in the darkness. But for now, it sits next to me while I sleep, while you dream, letting me know that you are content and relaxed in a way that I want you to stay for as long as possible. I want for your dreams to remain untroubled for many years to come.

No one tells you that small children can be your friends. Because it sounds weird and laughable. But it can happen. Over the course of almost two years you have changed from this tiny screaming red faced thing that gave me intense anxiety and worry, to this real life, walking, talking, playing person. You have opinions and thoughts and I love that everything new still amazes you in this way that is so special and fleeting. I still have some of that inside me too--Ive never fully let it go, and maybe that's why I am able to consider you my friend.

At the park, you are wearing your new shoes and as you swing you kick your legs out and throw your head back and there's this smile on your face that I wish I could capture forever. Because it is completely real; you are doing it for no other reason than the things you were feeling inside were powerful enough to become an expression of happiness. The sun goes behind a cloud as you yell loudly about the big trucks driving by, as you count to 9, missing 1-3 because they are tricky, and I think about a passage in Slapstick by Vonnegut where people who don't believe or simply acknowledge they don't know if there is a god should address all their correspondence in the form of "To Whom it May Concern"

To Who it May Concern:  If you can feel the vibes I'm sending out, I want you to know that I am thankful for this day, and for this life that I am living.

During lunch I show you how to eat cheese on a cracker instead of separately and your repeated sounds of "cooool" remind me that there is still so much that you have yet to discover. I don't want to ever completely shield you from the hard parts--the pain and sadness and loneliness and anger. You will need those as they are part of it all. But I will be here to help as long as I am physically on this earth. I will be here. That's what being a parent is. A lifelong signed contract in helping make someone into a good person. One that knows their own worth and that they are capable of always moving forward. That is what I want for you. I want for you what I did not have for myself--stability, and an inner mantra of 'No matter what, it is always going to be ok'.