some honesty.

I'm not sure when the shift occurred. 

Maybe it was when night crested on Christmas day and we marked another year-we-never-thought-would-pass-without-a-child.

Or maybe it was when a side comment occurred reminding me of how many people started after we did and now have tiny feet and tiny fingers filling their view.

Or maybe it was when my year of risk folded into a year of soft and I realized—I'm just too tired. 


I've mentioned it before, how easy it is to simply forget you're in the middle of an adoption process. You go day-by-day and you're in this limbo of invisible pregnancy and no one knows. There's no internal shifting, no slight butterfly whispers of baby kicks. It's just you, just your spouse, just the empty closet-turned-nursery-turned closet again.

Over the past year and a half, I've avoided planning things. I've kept my calendar wide open—as much as possible—because of the what if of how our world can change. There was a slight reprieve in the spring, when we had a definitive date pointing us toward something. I'd even say this summer was included, because no way in hell did we expect anything to happen after having the unthinkable happen twice.

But slowly the thoughts came back—first in brief momentary glimpses and then full-on waves of emotion. It could be today. It could be today. What if it's today. 

And well, after a few months of that, you get exhausted. 


"Thank God we can't tell the future. We'd never get out of bed." - Tracy Letts, August: Osage County

If I knew what I know now—if I could see how long this would last or how much heartbreak it would cause, I'm not sure if I would do it all again. I say that knowing after it's all said and done, when the wait is over and the pain dulls, my thoughts will change.

But now? I just don't know.

And so I'm scheduling into June. I have a significant trip planned in April. I'm daydreaming about vacations Russ and I can take in the summer. I'm hiring an intern and working on expanding Story Sessions. I'm tossing out my yoga mat every morning and making routines and creating rituals.

I can't live in the world of maybe today anymore. 

The definite one day has turned to maybe in my heart. And I don't know what to think about that, but for now, I'm just holding the empty space. 

It's not my job to fill it with hope and expectation anymore.

Posted on January 11, 2014 and filed under Faith, The Process.