starting over

just heard this quote from an episode of criminal minds that really resonated with me:

“Sometimes the hardest part isn't letting go but rather learning to start over.”
― Nicole Sobon

the after

nine days.  it only took nine days for the course of our lives to change.

i think back to the utter joy we felt when we realized that our first IVF cycle had been successful, never once believing that just five months later we would be grieving the loss of our twins.

sadness seems to be the ongoing theme these days.  pure, unadulterated sadness.  hubbie and i vacillate between crying spells to feeling okay and back again, trying to take each day at a time.  the days have never felt so long.

 

and the nights are the hardest.

 

every night when i go to bed, i realize that one more day has passed without our babies.  like we're pulling further away from their memory.

 

whenever i close my eyes, i can see their faces, and then it just hurts all over again.

 

we feel stuck between wanting to move on, but not willing to forget.

 

i asked hubbie if we could survive this, and every day he assures me that we can.  that we will.

after we said goodbye to our son, we were discharged the following (saturday) morning.  although i was relieved to go home, being in our little bubble in the hospital had been a comfort.  the world seemed big, and scary, and reality just wasn't something that was easy to grasp.

 

reality can be cruel sometimes.

 

i don't have the words to describe what it's like to leave our children behind.

 

we came home to the netflix movie on our coffee table, what to expect when you're expecting.  to maternity clothes i had just ordered the week before on our doorstep.  to the remnants of our daughter's unexpected birth in our upstairs bathroom -- blankets, a stethoscope, the aspirator.

to instructions to finish out my prenatal vitamins, which seemed so pointless in the aftermath.

 

on monday, my breast milk came in, a painful physical reminder of what we had lost.  on tuesday, an automated appointment reminder for the fetal heart echoes, made two months in advance.

everything else seemed inconsequential.  unsubstantial.  i felt like a different person, unable to go back to the way things were, because it simply wasn't possible.  or plausible.  it's then i concluded that i'd never be the same.

 

and then came the guilt.  hadn't i done everything as instructed?  eaten all the right things?  been super cautious, knowing this was probably our one chance, after years of infertility, after three surgeries and countless tests, after taking a chance on IVF, always knowing that every week we made it through was almost too good to be true?  because that is how i'd felt -- lucky beyond all reason, blessed.  blessed that we were finally able to conceive, and we were given not just one, but two, because of all that time trying to so patiently wait was paying off.  because all of our prayers had been answered for good.

 

i can ask myself why, why, why? countless times, but have realized that the reasons are far beyond my comprehension.

 

the grieving process is such a personal, respective thing.  it's difficult to share it with others, but we recognize the outpouring of love surrounding us.  we are lucky.  and blessed.  perspective is a wonderful thing.

 

so another day... another day closer.  closer to what, i am unsure, but hopefully one day i will know.

 

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." 

--1 Corinthians 13:7

alight

ever have one of those days where you just want to grab ahold of something that makes sense?  that through the muddle and fog of the "stuff" that comes with life, you want to find a listening ear, a piece of text, anything that can capture just an ounce of what you're feeling?  to feel that you're being understood, that you're being seen?  to know that you're not the only one who's going through it, even though at the time you do really feel completely alone?

 

well, i did.  today.  a blue day.

 

i was searching through my wallet for a receipt, a mindless task, when i came across one of the little messages i had kept from a fortune cookie (i have them all over the place, because they've become more like inspirational quotes, rather than fortunes):

 

"Never fear shadows.  They simply mean there's a light shining somewhere nearby."

 

it did make me pause for a second.  but at the time, i wasn't looking for inspiration.  i was looking for a distraction.

 

and then tonight, it hit me.  i've heard so many variations of that verse...

 

"It is often in the darkest skies that we see the brightest stars."  --Richard Evans
 

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.”  --Martin Luther King, Jr.

 

“I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars.”  --Stephenie Meyer

 

“Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.” --George Iles

 

suddenly, i didn't feel so alone.

 

and then i realized, things will look muddled if i want them to be.  but sometimes it's crystal clear.  we just need to want to see it.

tough it out

i read this quote last night and found it to be very fitting:

 

Tough Times Never Last, But Tough People Do!  --Dr. Robert H. Schuller

 

it's actually the title of his book, which has now been added to my list.  nevermind that the book is almost as old as i am.  the uncomplicated truth in the title alone is enough to grab my attention.

 

i woke up this morning reinvigorated, giving myself a pep talk, ready to take on whatever came my way.  and boy, was it waiting for me right outside my front door!  so i passed the quote on to someone that seemed to need it just as much as i did, if not more, and witnessed the transformation that took place after i'd shared those 8 simple words.  funny (and amazing) how powerful a few words can be.

a lil' vanilla

i finally had a chance to watch vanilla sky, which i've heard described as "crazy" and "nuts" over the years.  i've also heard people remark that you'll just end up asking, "WTF?!" throughout the movie, which is pretty much what i was doing until the final scene.

so what can i say about it?  is it considered a psychological thriller?  sci-fi?  or just some random movie that is completely out there?  probably all of those, more or less.  and although it is a film from 2001, it still manages to get a person thinking.

what happens when someone who seemingly has everything manages to lose it all in an instant?  would you jump at the chance to live your life if you had a second chance?

i'll leave you with the quote that i think answers the above very clearly: "Every passing minute is a chance to turn it all around."

the road

i went to my first specialist appointment yesterday.  i'll spare you the details, but basically i was given a timeline of at least 6 months for me to receive the treatment i need to get me on track to where i need to be, before the specialist and i can even begin to tackle the next daunting issue on the list.  you'd think that this news would be comforting in a way, after 2 long years of struggling from appointment to appointment, but i was struck with a feeling of hopelessness that i could not shake all day.  my husband on the other hand, re-discovered his old self that had been lost for awhile, feeling a bothersome weight lifted because we were finally given an expected timeline.  this was yet another example of us naturally balancing each other out.

i once watched this movie called the road starring viggo mortensen.  it's a post-apocalyptic story about a man and his son's battle to survive as they travel south where they believe it is warm -- not knowing what they will really find there.  it's a heavy tale filled with despair, but the glimmer of hope the father holds onto is to get his son to safety.

my problems can not really compare to a drama like that, but it's scary to think that arriving to the point where we are now is only the beginning of a seemingly long road ahead.  sometimes, like yesterday, i feel powerless and distraught; other times, i'm okay, trudging forward.  i remind myself that we've made it this far and that it's just part of the journey.

my sister gave me some great advice that really comforted my heart: "I think that if anything, this current struggle will become a part of your wonderful love story. Everything in life's a process. God says so often in Scripture, "Do not be discouraged," and "Do not be afraid." So don't be discouraged, and most of all, He'll help you because God helps those who mourn."

thanks sis.

present day

i finally got around to watching midnight in paris -- a movie i've wanted to see for awhile, because i mean... paris?  literature?  need i say more?

there are probably various interpretations of the recurring theme and feeling of nostalgia throughout the story, but what it meant to me was to appreciate the present for what it is.  and it's possible to make the most of your time now, as your "golden age."

i'll leave you with my favorite quote from the movie, spoken by ernest hemmingway incarnate:

"No subject is terrible if the story is true, if the prose is clean and honest, and if it affirms courage and grace under pressure."  --Midnight in Paris

our tradition

"Our Tradition”

Thanksgiving 2011

For our family, Thanksgiving has always been the “it” holiday, even bigger than Christmas or New Years.  I wonder how this came about and all I’ve come up with is that we used to always travel for the holidays, spreading our time between relatives in Chicago and New York, enjoying the festivities that each metropolis would offer.  Come January we’d often find ourselves still packed and ready to go, facing a new year like it was another trip on the road, not quite settled before it was time to go again.  So maybe Thanksgiving simply felt like home, loyal and steadfast, a testament to us like it was ours.

After my sisters and I had left for college, my mom would always make sure to pull us back for Thanksgiving, eager to cement our plans before fall semester had concluded.  “When are you coming home?” “What should Dad and I make?” “Have you heard from your sisters?”  She would be excited to see us, our hustling, bustling family under one roof again.  Over the years, the questions are still the same and the warmth in her voice carries me all the way back to New Jersey.

This year, my mother has organized a party like no other.  I can imagine the scene now: My sisters and I in the warm kitchen (since my dad will already have something in the oven or on the stovetop) clamoring around while we wait for mom, always fashionably late, to wake from her nap.  The husbands will be undoubtedly hovering, picking at this and that while we shoo them away to watch TV.  At some point, my aunt will flurry in with her daughters and grandbaby in tow, enough of a commotion for my mom to make an appearance.  Then more cousins, complete with a chattering pair of kids, and my husband’s family, my in-laws with their arms full of food and cookies.  There will be commotion and laughs and hugs and the lingering scent of dinner, and before we know it one of my cousins will ask, “When are we eating?” and somehow we’ll squeeze the lot of us around two long tables, the piano bench serving as a couple of chairs.

For me, this is the kind of scene I look forward to each year.  Sometimes minor details will change, like what we’re cooking or the number of people showing up, but overall I can count on our togetherness.  I can count on the noise.  I can count on the stories shared and the elation felt and the promise to do it again, and soon.  Every Thanksgiving, I can count on all of you.

Dad, this was a big birthday year for you and all the more reason to celebrate.  In the thirty years I’ve had with you, you’ve shaped me in so many ways; I’ve noticed this in the most elementary practices in my life.  Thank you for your kind heart, quiet strength, and the appreciative manner in which you lead our family.  You have the ability to teach me something without my even knowing it; sometimes the advice you’ve given resonates much later, but you’ve provided me with the tools and clarity to find my way.

Mom, my fearless momma, always the strong one.  I will never forget how frightening it was for us when you were first diagnosed, then decided on surgery.  You handled each step from your operation through recovery with optimism and faith.  These days, you’re still one of the first people I call when I’m faced with a difficult situation, knowing that you’ll be there on the other end of the line with honesty and conviction.  You are my biggest advocate.

Rach, my little sister, a married woman!  It was amazing to stand with you at the altar on your wedding day, witnessing you exchange vows with your new husband.  What a blessing it is that you have found your better half, the person who completes you.  It’s humbling to see you grow into the next stage of your life: the role of devoted wife (and adventurous cook)!

Sarah, a college grad.  It was surreal attending your graduation ceremony, watching you walk across the stage to receive your diploma.  I am so very proud of you.  I’m glad you come to me to talk things out about the incredible responsibility you feel and struggles you face as a student teacher.  You do noble, giving work, and there is no one better suited for it than you.

John, welcome to the family!  I’m thankful that you’re around.  I’ve realized now that you will forever be finding something to fix or improve, taking care of business as you do with everything.  You look out for the family with a willing, generous spirit, keeping those you care about top of mind.

Anthony, my best friend, my comfort.  I am lucky not only to have an unwavering supporter, but someone who challenges me every day.  In your arms, I am safe; in your eyes, I am cherished.  You constantly show me that we can make it through anything, large or small, as long as we rely on one another, as long as we’re together.

Dad (Rediger), thank you for your considerate regard for both Anthony and me.  Without question, you consistently have our best interest at heart, whether it is packing up food for us after a visit or bringing the truck around so that we can go “shopping.”  Every plant or flower you have personally added to our garden is done carefully and thoughtfully.  Thank you for enriching our lives.

Mom (Rediger), our one-of-a-kind supermom!  If you discovered one of us in need, you would drop everything or do anything in your power to absolve us of our troubles.  It is exemplary of the gracious, inherently good, admirable person you are.  Thank you for everything you do, donating time and energy and a listening ear.

Jana, my partner in crime.  Thank you for always being there for me.  I know that you will laugh with me but cry with me too; we’re a natural pair, so whatever I feel, you feel.  Thank you for working at our relationship and keeping us connected.  I truly enjoy our little messages throughout the day!

Nan, here’s to a wise, remarkable woman.  I love hearing you tell your stories with expressive candor and ease, transporting us back into another time and place.  Your vitality is channeled through your ever-growing family, which is reflected right back at you.

To my family – this year, I thank you for tradition, our tradition, I can count on.

“Traditions are not for keeping.  They’re for keeping us together.”  –Hallmark commercial

bookworm

the demise of borders has saddened me, and moreso lately with the official news of its immediate liquidation plans.  i have many fond memories at borders, the most recent one a few summers ago after my husband and i first moved into our house.  we were exploring the area and discovered the store, deciding to spend the rest of our evening leisurely walking up and down the aisles.  aftewards, as the sky darkened into night, the sound of fireworks caught us by surprise, but we realized they were coming from the baseball game nearby and we had the best seats in town: in our car in that borders parking lot.

i can spend hours in a bookstore.  i'm not sure what it is: getting lost amidst the shelves, perusing covers until one catches my eye; touching the pages which hold that "new smell"; people watching; finding that quiet, private corner to skim the summary or read the first few opening lines of a book, deciding whether it will be coming home with me tonight.  although i'm usually with someone upon entering the store, we're always parting ways at the door, looking to tap into our interests separately.  i've found that browsing is almost a very intimate process.

discount bookstores are an even bigger draw for me.  think about it.. books, and at a great price?  what could be better?  i could get 4 for the price of 1!  so i'm literally able to spend twice as long in these warehouse outlets, piling up my basket until it's almost too heavy to carry.  often, i am surprised by how many hours have elapsed by the time i make it home.

hubbie and i share a joint love for books, so much so that we want our own library room one day, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along each wall, filled to capacity with books.  although i have a kindle, i enjoy owning books of all kinds.  i hope this desire doesn't fade as technology advances in the future.

in any event, i think this fondness (or craving, really) for books is more for what i find inside of them:  knowledge.  experience.  openness.  insight.  all of this from what we call life and what others are pulling and sharing from their lives.  like a quote i saw on a school today: learn to live.  live to learn.  sounds like a good slogan live by.