Category: Grief

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Anchors Aweigh

That’s a silly term, don’t you think? The English language being the English language never fails to confuse even the those who use English as their primary language. Obviously, an “anchor” is something that is used to keep an object in place. And “aweigh” is derived from the Dutch word “wegan,” which translates as “to weigh.” Put the two words together and you think it would mean to weigh a person down. But nope. It’s an English nautical term that basically means, “Lift up that dead weight and let’s get movin’!”

Except that’s not exactly what I’m doing these days. In fact, I’m doing the literal (or maybe not so literal?) opposite.

Batten Down The Hatches!

I can’t explain my roller coaster moods lately. For the most part, I feel like I’m doing fantastic. Things are looking good on the horizon. Work is improving (getting off the graveyard shift soon — woohoo!). I’m working on my health; trying to get my body working properly. I’m overall happy where I am in life

I admit, moving into the 5th decade of life for me was difficult. It wasn’t just the thought of being old. It was the physical aspect of being old. Like, when did it get so hard to get off the floor after bending down to pick up a paperclip? Or how come my knees crack after crossing my legs for so long?

I could have gone down the rabbit hole about other “getting old” worries such as, “I’ll need hip surgery,” or “I hope I have good health insurance,” or “What about my retirement fund?”

Skagway, AK

But I didn’t. I figured, I can only deal with the here and now. And the here and now consisted of Hubby & me and our small postage-stamp house on a postage-stamp yard with our two adorable dogs. Apparently we are what they call DINKWADs — “Dual Income No Kids With A Dog” (or in our case, two).1

And then this past weekend, I stumbled onto an Instagram post that said:

Being overly independent is a defense mechanism from being constantly let down.

For some reason, that quote struck me hard. Being the couple we are, I shared the post with Hubby in the next room and texted that I had just realized that this was the reason I felt I had to take on (in this case) planning my mom’s 80th birthday2 party on my own because I didn’t want to feel let down NOR did I want HIM to feel let down with me.

At face value, I pretty much took it on myself to believe that it was because I always felt I could never measure up to what I felt my parents thought I could be. That I always felt I let them down. I mean … I *am* Filipino. And I *am* Catholic, aren’t I?

Thar She Blows!

But then I brought this up to someone else. Someone I felt I could talk to without fear or judgement. Someone that had no vested interest with my circle of family / peers. Someone who is my therapist. And she brought up something else.

She said, “Yeah! And don’t you think that you are that way because of constantly being let down from going through infertility treatments?”

BOOM

Just like that, I’m back to feeling like I’m 28 years old again and frustrated that I can’t get pregnant. Then in my head, 25 years goes by in a flash along with all the frustration, sadness, anger, and heartbreak. It feels like every single tear I shed in that moment was a memory I kept from those years.

It’s as I’m mourning my loss once again. This time it’s piece by piece. Bit by bit. Not just just the fact I could get pregnant, but the other losses too. The years I lost is being so focused on everything fertility-related. The stress and lack-of-control I had during that time period. Oh gosh, the time and money spent trying to get pregnant.

Then there’s the loss of all the milestones or “firsts.” First smile, step, word. First day of school (for every year until they graduate). First job, first car, first house. Graduation Day. Wedding Day. Grandchildren.

There was just so much loss.

However, there is one loss I feel greater than the others, especially now that I’m growing older in age. You’d think it would be the one about aging without having physical support around when it’s need. Yes, that is a concern; but for now, Hubby and I maintain that we plan to go down together with the Titanic.

Walking The Plank

No … The loss I feel most at my age now is friendship. Which was something my therapist and I talked about a lot during that last session.

I have always said to people that I am an introvert. Yes, I smile and talk a lot. Yes I can be bubbly and animated in public. Yes I’m good at public speaking. But once the mic is turned off and the lights go down, I am most comfortable in the corner at the back of the room. If given a choice to go out for a night around town on vacation or sit on the beach and watch the moon rise, I’d choose the latter.

With that in mind, it’s always been hard for me as an adult to make new friends. The friends I keep now are few and we often don’t see each other. But when we do, it’s like nothing has changed. We know each others’ nuances and are comfortable with each other. THOSE friends are once in a lifetime friends.

Hornswaggled & Marooned

In my 30’s & 40’s, I kinda chalked my lack of new friends to my introvertedness. And I also knew it was because most of them were now married with kids, leaving them little time or energy to hang out at night with someone without. PLUS, who would want to be friends with someone who needed a friend to vent about her inability to get pregnant while she either wants to vent about or praise the virtues of motherhood? I would be a horribly disappointing friend, wouldn’t I?

That would be the self-deprecating defense mechanism talking, as my therapist rightly pointed out. Truth is, I lost many high school and college friends around that period of time. Not due to any ill-fated reason, of course. It was simply because our lives took different paths. We simply lost touch with one another or became Facebook Friends where I could see their kids grow up before my own eyes. Our lives just didn’t seem to mesh with our lifestyles.

I always thought that it would be easier to make friendships at my age because there would be the potential for more empty nesters. Except, most people around my age had children later in life. Plus conversation would eventually turn to kids and grandkids — which, for the record, I have NO problem talking about 3 — and for most new acquaintances, it still seems like an awkward talking point to them when I tell them that we tried to have kids but it wasn’t meant to be.

At this point, my therapist asked if I had ever looked to see if their were any online support groups for those who were child-free and were feeling the same losses I was. And that’s when I had to chuckle.

Shiver Me Timbers

You see, 20+ years ago when I started searching for any type of support for women going through infertility, I wasn’t able to find anything. Keep in mind, there wasn’t any websites like Resolve at the time. Reddit was not even born yet. Facebook was still a baby. It was difficult to find anything. Any resources I found were from doctors offices.

I admittedly tried going to a live support group meeting, but the introvert in me was so embarrassed about crying in front of strangers, so I just never went back.4 So I just googled. And I stumbled on Mel’s website. And I found blogs and started to read. And in March of 2007, Apron Strings for Emily was born.

Over the past week, I have once again googled to see what kind of support is out there for me. I am happy to report there are many resources available depending on what I might be interested. Introverted as I am, I’ll likely try an online support group.

I am 100% grateful for this space. It has allowed me a place to bear my soul for the world to see. While many people in real life (IRL) know about this little corner of my world, I like to think this is my safe space where I can just be me.

Sometimes I forget I still have this space to do this. Sometimes I feel exhausted and lack the energy to write down all the crappy emotions I have in swirling in this head of mine. But I know I have to find a way to manage all get these negative, self-deprecating thoughts out of my head. And while I may not feel that I have the support of those who could completely understand the same fears and losses I have gone through (YET, working on that support group research), at least I have this space to talk about it. And not have to worry about letting anyone else — even myself — down.

Only the BEST 80’s childhood movie EVER
  1. What do the Millenials say? I was THIS many years old when I found this out (too old, I guess). ↩︎
  2. Mom’s party was two years ago, BTW ↩︎
  3. I live vicariously through their stories ↩︎
  4. Ironic, because now I cry in front of everyone and I don’t care who sees me ↩︎
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The “Unmothers” Day

(The Week Where the Waves Kept Comin’)

So. I realize that my little cubby-hole in the internet-verse started as a way to work through my emotions while going through IF (infertility). And furthermore, how I was managing with living child-free.

And I realize that my most recent posts since 2020 (when I returned to putting my thoughts on “paper”) have not been related to IF / Child-free living.

That’s because, for the most part, I’ve resolved my feelings about both and have accepted that the life I am currently living is the life I was meant to have. In addition, when Hubby & I found ourselves “fur-childless” as our elder cats, Rain & Yami and our 12-yo puplo, Kozzy crossed the Rainbow Bridge, we knew we wanted to provide a good life for a rescue dog.

That’s how Kirby came into our lives. Having grown up with one, I was hoping to get a beagle. They just have such a unique personality that I can only describe as charismatic. They are smart, yet can be goofy. They are stubborn, but have no shortage in the love department. And their ears are so velvety soft.

In addition, we wanted to have a smaller type beagle, as Kozzy was a little too big for small home living. And finally, it had to be a boy because: 1) we’ve never had a male pet, and 2) Kirby was to be “Daddy’s Dog.”

It took a month of searching online for a beagle / beagle-mix at a local rescue or shelter. And just as I was about to lose hope on finding our “dream” dog, Hubby stumbled across Kirby’s profile at a local rescue group.

It was love at first site. While we love all of our “fur-children,” there is something about Kirby that makes him extra special. Maybe it’s because of those eyes, or that heart on top of his head. Or maybe the fact that his personality seemed to have traits derived from of all our pets. His curiosity definitely came from Yami. His stubbornness rivaled Kozzy’s. And just like Rain, he was a cuddle monster. Either way, at that moment, we knew that Kirby would be part of our family, our Ohana.

It’ll be seven years this July that Kirby has been in our lives. Since then, he started his own Instagram (@kirbykrackel) and Facebook accounts. He may not be an “influencer,” but he certainly has made lots of friends being part of the #GrumpyBeaglesUnited group. (Okay, so really it’s me that found life-long friends who’s beagles also had IG accounts).

Kirby loves going for rides in the car; he has a perpetual “What’s our next adventure?” look. That need for adventure likely came from the many road trips we’ve taken. He’s put his paws in Lake Superior, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. He’s canoed down the Platte River with us. He even strolled the National Mall when we took him to DC. We’ve driven cross- country, from Chicago to Santa Monica, jumping on and off I-40 to stop at interesting places off Route 66. We’ve been to the East Coast, the Outer Banks, Hilton Head and (of course) Florida. Needless to say, Kirby is a well-traveled pupster.

On each of these trips, we made it a point to meet some of Kirby’s Beagle Friends and their parents. It’s been nice to actually pet these awesome beagles and talk to their “parents” in person.

Kirby has made us more sociable; forcing us to meet complete strangers who want to pet him. He’s the reason we’ve been taking road trips, rather than flying somewhere for vacation. Basically Kirby was the one who brought us out of our shells to meet new people and make new adventures. He allowed us to step outside that life of IF and Child-free living and experience more of what life has to offer.

It was only a matter of time that Hubby & I would think of rescuing another beagle. Our wish list was the same as for Kirby; though we didn’t really have a preference of gender. From our beagle friends, we found a regional beagle rescue group. We hadn’t been actively looking, but there were a few young beagles on their site that prompted us to, at the very least, submit an application for review.

When we rescued Kirby, other than calling our Vet’s office to confirm we maintained the health of our other pets, the adoption process was painless. Which to me was a relief after years of considering other ways to start our human family.

Like I mentioned above, I hadn’t been writing much about my feelings about being child-free or how going through IF changed me. If you read the “About Me” portion of my blog, you’ll find that we considered adoption both domestic & abroad. However, given the heartache and disappointment during the years trying to conceive (TCC), I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to survive any heartache and disappointment if we were NOT chosen to be parents for a child.

More so, I was downright afraid of the application process. For most adoption agencies, they have standards in which to “approve” a person/family to be eligible to adopt. This meant that there would be a thorough investigation of our past, our finances, and — of course, our home. Then, if we were officially cleared to be placed on an adoption list, we would need to make an “About Us” profile in hopes that a biolological parent would choose us to raise their child.

For others, that would be a piece of cake; another step in starting their family. For me though, it was an invasion of my privacy, a judgement on how I live / lived my life, a look-see at any past mistakes I may have made. And that scared the living daylights out of me.

I’ve been told that when going through a pregnancy, your privacy just flies out the window. You could care less about who saw what and why needed to be done. Your goal was to deliver this child safely by all means necssary.

What hasn’t been said is that privacy is very scarce when you’re actively going through the IF work-up and the subsequent treatments. Visits to the IF Clinic were exhausting. I’d have to go twice (sometimes three times) a week to find the “optimal” time to conceive. This involved removing all clothing below the waist. It involved intrauterine ultrasounds, pelvic exam among pelvic exam. I swear, it got to the point where the minute I stepped into the IF clinic’s exam room, I would automatically drop my pants. I was in good company though, as others in the waiting room (though none of us could look at each other) were probably doing the same exact thing in the exam room. To this day, I experience PTSD when I go for my yearly girly exam. It was THAT invasive of my privacy.

We went through these experiences as if it was one “step” towards starting our biological family. Despite the odds against us, running up these “stairs”(if you will) still provided us an element of hope; a glimmer that I somehow could get pregnant.

When the glimmer of hope died after that one In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) failed, well … I felt defeated, depleted, but most of all depressed. I sunk down to the bottom of an endless well and, at one point didn’t think I’d be able to break the surface ever again. It took a long time to get where I am today; with the acceptance that I am unable to have biological children. Most of the time, my “healing process” involved being honest with my emotions, my actions, and my desires. It forced me to determine what I considered important in the life I was given, whether or not it was one I imagined. It was a tough journey, I managed to get out and accept that my life was meant to travel this road, to earn these battle scars.

Once I got out of that “black pit of despair,” I knew never ever wanted to go through those emotions again. In that darkness, I felt as if I had no ability to make things better for myself; wasn’t able to control my emotions. I felt as if I was was just a puppet and the master of the puppet strings (apron strings?) was the world mocking me because I couldn’t have kids.

It was that lack of control that I felt; that I was a slave to my monthly cycle. Each decision to make depended on the treatments we were receiving. I wanted to take back that part of my life where I had the ability to make decisions based on what I wanted to do; to take control of my life rather than what IF dictated.

Since biological children were not in our future, we were finally forced to decide if we wanted to adopt. While I couldn’t control what was happening with my body while TTC, I certainly had the control to make decisions of whether or not we wanted to adopt. Of which we all know what that decision was.

Why am I bringing up both Kirby and Infertility? Well, the obvious is because Kirby is our four-legged child; and therefore, has provided us with a way to raise and nurture a child.

Now that urge to “parent” another beagle has been growing; especially after the year that was 2020. We thought it would be great if Kirby had a sibling, someone to play with, someone he can nurture as well. This brings us to the present time.

This Beagle Rescue group, like other rescue groups require us to submit an application. In addition, they require an phone interview and a subsequent home visit if the interested party passed the interview.

Hubby & I knew that as we filled out the application and as we were being interviewed over the phone. Though I still hate the invasion of privacy that comes with adoption, I was prepared to go through all the steps if it meant that we could add another beagle to our Ohana.

We passed the first two steps easily enough. Therefore a home visit, which included bringing another beagle for Kirby to interact with, was set for for the last week of April.

While there were rough patches with Kirby interacting with the other beagle, he was otherwise okay or chose to ignore him. But if he get too close to Kirby’s toys or food, or if this beagle explored Kirby’s “territory” unchaperoned, Kirby would growl. And if the other beagle was within inches of Kirby, he would bear his teeth and appear as if he wanted to attack him.

Kirby has been with other dogs (he likes running with the big dogs in the dog park), he just doesn’t like getting too personal with them. Touch his privates and he goes bonkers (he’s apparently hip with the #MeToo movement). We found out when the other beagle went to the upstairs bedrooms unaccompanied, Kirby is very protective of his territory. Apparently he takes his job as Beagle Security very seriously when it comes to our home.

Despite those issues, the home visit seemed to go okay. Definitely not stellar, but — as we were given good advice on what we can do when introducing another dog into the house — we thought we did a decent job expressing how much another beagle would be great for our Ohana. We already knew about the whole “don’t touch me there” issue, but we emphasized that this would be something we can work on. We also expressed our commitment to the process of slowly introducing a new beagle to our family.

The Tuesday before Mother’s Day, we received an email from the rescue group. It stated that after reviewing the home visit report, they thought that Kirby would not be comfortable with another dog in the house. It ended with saying that our application was declined for this, and that it “wouldn’t be fair” to Kirby or a new dog.

It took me a couple minutes to digest that email and even more minutes to compose myself to let Hubby know our application was declined.

Suddenly I felt as if I was back on the IF roller coaster once again. I was rejected because I wasn’t a good enough mother. I hadn’t properly socialized Kirby with other dogs throughout the years which is why he appears to be aggressive during certain moments. That during the background check, they must have found something in our previous pets’ medical records that deemed us bad candidates for adoption. That I wasn’t fur-mother appropriate. That I was worthless.

Now logically, I know that adopting a dog is NOTHING like adopting a human child. That child adoption is a more cumbersome process than it is to adopt a dog. I also know that these “interviews” and home visits are for the well-being of the adoptee, whether it’s a child or adult.

But emotionally? On the week heading into Mothers Day of all days? I became a complete wreck. At that moment, all the things I feared about when contemplating domestic or international adoptions happened … while trying to adopt a dog.

I believe I may have told this story in a previous post, but it’s something that I like to return to when I’m feeling the sting of infertility (or the sadness that comes with the loss of a loved one) more potently than other days.

A friend once told me that it is normal to grieve intermittently; that no one really EVER gets done grieving. He compared it to the ebb and flow of tides formed from the gravitational pull of the sun and moon. During a full moon, the pull of the sun and moon cause the tides to be higher (queue Blondie, “The Tide is High,”), stronger; constantly hitting the shore with such force.

During other moon phases; however, the pull is weaker and waves can appear as a small ripple gently approaching the coast. However, there exists other factors (such as wind, storms) that can cause disruptions in an otherwise calm body of water. Those elements are capable of creating recklessly tall waves or even teeny tiny minuscule waves. These factors can be unpredictable, not only on how hard the waves hit the shores, but on how long of a period occurs between each wave, each set.

This friend said to think of grief as those tides, these waves. At first the grief is so strong, so painful, and so constant that it feels like the grief will never stop. But then there are the times where grief, while still palpable, is still not as potent as it was in the beginning. And then there are the times where grief manifests in other ways (memories, milestones, deja vu moments, for example) without any warning.

I was told to remember that grief can be sneaky like that; punching you in the gut without even realizing that you’ve been hit. Those are the times that we should recognize that it’s okay feel that grief more acutely. That grief, like the ebb and flow of tides never really ends.

So today, if you ask me how I’m handling child-free living, chances are you’ll get a “not so good” answer. I really am okay, and I know that I’m the only person that can make myself feel worthless. I know that I will pick myself up once again. Like I’ve done so many times since the beginning.

I know that despite everything, I will get through this rough patch.

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Politics & Catholicism, Part One

Warning you now. If you don’t want to read about Politics & Catholicism, then click away and don’t bother reading Part Two, either!

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Another chance to change your mind

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Okay, don’t say that I didn’t warn you! 

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Before writing this extremely long tirade regarding Politics & Catholicism, I truly debated if I should share this article, let alone go on a rant. As you can see, I ultimately did. 

This article was written by Jeannie Gaffigan, the wife of well-known comedian Jim Gaffigan. In this piece written for “America: The Jesuit Review,” Jeannie stated that — though she is firmly Catholic in her beliefs, and is most-definitely pro-life (as most Catholics are) — wrote that she will not be voting for Trump this election. She stated the impetus for writing this essay was the Twitter Storm that ensued after Jim, who has always been non-political in every single act he performed or interview he has done, had uncharacteristically tweeted a “profanity-laden rant against President Trump.” 

Personally, I don’t think the tweet was that bad; however, the responses he received (as well as on Jeannie’s own Twitter account) was full of vitriol & hate. And many of them  (continued to) spread misinformation. Several responses even turned to quoting Trump when he called his opponent as a “fake Catholic.”

Which, for someone who ordered law enforcement to deliver tear gas to peaceful protestors & the surrounding media personnel standing in his way just for a photo opportunity, Trump certainly didn’t display Christian-like behavior. Ironically, that photo op was to show the public that he is a good, God-fearing Christian. In actuality, his actions prior to this photo op (and even after the tear gas was delivered) proved that he is definitely NOT Christian. Seriously, he doesn’t even know how to hold the Bible properly!

But we’ll get to that in my next diatribe, as I suspect this post will end up being super long. Anyhoo …

After Jim’s tweet, close friends and families of theirs had privately came up to Jeannie to informed her that they didn’t like Trump either; in fact, they hate everything else that he stands for. However, they also suggested that as a “Real Catholic,” she should “hold [her] nose and vote for Trump if only because the Catholic faith dictates, above all, we must vote for the pro-life” candidate.” 

What I like the most about Jeannie’s article is she stated so eloquently those exact reasons that *I* won’t vote for Trump. Well, actually she quotes from Pope Francis’ message that he delivered to the US  as a result of the #BlackLivesMatter campaign, which went into overdrive following the death of George Floyd and other similar events (before and after) his death. 

Pope Francis said, “We cannot tolerate or turn a blind eye to racism and exclusion in any form and yet claim to defend the sacredness of every human life.”  

Jeannie then wrote that systemic racism in our our current culture has led to the economic and social inequality we’re currently experiencing — or rather, just now “noticing” — in our country.   And in the current state of affairs, it is virtually impossible to claim  that we (as Catholics) are truly practicing a “culture of life,” which protects the the sanctity of ALL life. Jeannie goes on to add that , “… we [as Catholics] have been complicit in a long history of de-valuing our fellow human beings based on the color of their skin or the way they came to this country.”

As someone who has had 12 years of Catholic education (and has also been label a “Fake Catholic”), this goes against everything I learned about humanity in school and during the thousands of homilies I’ve listened to in the course of my life thus far. And, although my Mom sees me as a “Lapsed Catholic,” I want her to know that all the money that my parents spent on my education did not go to waste. I have *always* turned to what I was fundamentally taught during my formative years. And I continue to practice these principles of Catholicism today; not only spiritually, but ethically as well.  

My actions are the result of practicing a lesson that I was taught during my formative years and is a moral principle for several different faiths: 

“Love one another; [and] just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.”

(John 13:34

The Golden Rule, or as it is defined by theologians, the “Ethics of Reciprocity.“ It’s the first thing you are taught in Catholic school (and/or catechism classes). It’s the one act that is almost inherent for most Christians, and the rule that even any empathetic person that choose to be agnostic or an atheist. 

As someone who chose to be an RN, I am inherently drawn to treat everyone with empathy, of which I learned from that Golden Rule. It certainly is a lesson taught in Med School (“First, do no harm”) and Nursing School (via The Modern Nightingale Pledge that “Nursing is a ‘Missioner of Health … dedicated to the advancement of human welfare.’”)

How about Muslims?” you might ask. While not directly quoted in the Quran, Muslims also have the intrinsic belief that they “must think about how their actions affect others; to see the world in a whole new way – through the eyes of another.”   

The basic gist is: Be good to one another. 

Can you, as a Christian, think that Trump is following the Golden Rule? Jeannie Gaffigan certainly doesn’t think so, stating in her article that “Mr. Trump is only pro-Mr. Trump.” How can someone claiming to be Christian say that prisoners of war and soldiers who died defending our freedom are “losers” or “suckers” ?!? 

I could cite many (MANY) more examples of how pathologically narcissistic Mr. Trump is; but I won’t. Yet.

Any sane Christian would agree that Trump has broken all Ten Commandments AND has committed all of the seven of the Deadly Sins. I (obviously) subscribe to that thought. Wholeheartedly.  However, after much reflection and  prayers  (yes, Mom, I DO pray) I cannot vote for a person who is not sympathetic, let alone empathetic. Trump definitely does not think of others, except if it affected him personally. As a matter of fact, I believe he doesn’t even *think* about — let alone pray for —  those individuals & groups that do not subscribe to his beliefs. Truthfully (and stay with me here, my friends), Trump probably doesn’t know the Beatitudes, much less recognize that MANY Christians use this as a guide to *understand* and learn from those individuals / groups / religions whose thoughts don’t align with their own beliefs. 

As a refresher for my friends (and a lesson for those friends that are not familiar with the Beatitudes), here they are: 

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted. 

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God. 

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you [falsely] because of me.

Matthew 5:3-10

Forgive me if you find the following sentences insulting. Before you cast your ballot (stone?), I beg you you to See. The. Whole. Picture. Before deciding who should represent and lead the American People. Please DO NOT cast your vote simply because of the ONE platform on the current president’s stance – or rather “indifference” – regarding Roe v Wade. Think of the OTHER platforms that he promotes during his (COVID-19 ridden, non-mask wearing, anti-social distancing) rallies. 

Let me say this in another way. If you (Catholics & Christians) are planning on voting for Trump just because he agrees with only ONE of his many platforms he’s using to run his campaign;   or because who is “for” (better stated, “indifferent” about) Roe v Wade .. please please PLEASE remember those Beatitudes. Ask yourself if Trump plans on helping ALL the individuals named in the Beatitudes, as WELL as those unborn children who’s life you’re fighting to defend.  

Does that mean I’m pro-life? As a confirmed Catholic, that answer is tricky and it depends on the events & situations surrounding the woman & her loved ones. I think there are circumstances such as complications during pregnancy, as well as the lack of support & financial means to raise a child, are involved in making a decision. And I am aware that, even if it’s not directly stated in the Bible, the interpretation is that the woman should keep the child. 

But (and this is where I bring up empathy) think about it in the context of yourself, your sister, mother, aunt, daughter, grand-daughter: 

What if you were single or married to an abusive spouse? What about the safety of the the child once he/she is born? 

What if your sister is unable to financially afford even the basics for herself, let alone a child? 

What if your daughter’s pregnancy happened as a result of rape? Of incest? Of sex trafficking? 

What if your grand-daughter had a miscarriage in the late 2nd or 3rd trimester? Would you expect her to keep the lifeless child in her womb until she is able to deliver her stillborn baby? 

What if, in the desire to have children, your infertile daughter & son-in-law seeks other means to start their family and it doesn’t “take”? What if they didn’t have enough money to go through another round, using frozen eggs .. But they can’t anyway because they didn’t have enough frozen eggs to even try again? What if a year passes, and your daughter (now confused, hurt, and ashamed with still not having kids) receives a call to renew the “rent” to keep these eggs frozen — but didn’t have the thousands of dollars it takes to keep them frozen for another year? What if that couple had no other choice but to “give them up?” 

Yes, that last situation was true. And yes, it did happen to me. 

What about adoption, you may ask? Well, let me ask you to put your empathy hat on once again. What if your sister wants, yet knows she is unable, to keep the child (for various reasons as mentioned above)? What if your sister was given different CHOICES and ultimately decided to put the child up for adoption? As a woman who is infertile (well, menopausal TBH), I believe that this is *much harder* to do than the general public would think. 

If you *truly* believe that adoption will “solve everything,” then, once again, you should examine the whole picture. Ask your sister why she is / was leaning one way or the other. Understand the various reasons your sister is making (or already made) the decision she did. Seek to understand, rather than instruct your sister what she should do. 

Don’t tell your sister what YOU would do in her situation; rather, ask her what YOU can do for her. 

And support (and RESPECT) her decision, regardless of it goes against your belief. 

I can’t tell you what it would be like to give up a child (we couldn’t even have one if / when we tried, anyway 🙃😝😂) or even to end a viable pregnancy, but I imagine that person would continue to live her life with a ginormous gaping wound in her heart; knowing that her child or his / her spirit is out there somewhere. I imagine she will always have the feeling that a part of her is missing in her life and stay with her the rest of her days, even when she wanted to get / could get pregnant again. 

Can you see the resemblance in emotions for a woman that couldn’t have kids of her own? After over 15 years of infertility, I *still* have that gaping wound and hole in my heart (and can’t forget “good old Catholic guilt”) from our attempts to have biological children of our own. From losing those frozen eggs. 

So I can hear the question now: “Why didn’t you & your husband try to adopt?” As an infertile couple, we DID consider that alternative. Let me just tell you (from experience) that it isn’t EASY to “just adopt.” There are financial issues, privacy issues, and the overall feeling that you’re not “good enough” to be *approved* by the agency to be placed on a list; let alone  *chosen* by a woman. For those that sought to adopt, I’m simply in awe that they could open their hearts and home to accept a non-biological child. I’m absolutely thrilled that those adoptions were successful, and that they were able to start (or complete) their family in this method. 

In my case, I was overwhelmed by the thought of starting our family by adoption. My confidence had been shattered to pieces by years of doctors appointments (sometimes daily looky-see’s down there 😱). Simply stated, I couldn’t “just adopt” after years of failure and disappointment to have a biological child of our own. I was afraid that, even though we might have been chosen to be parents of that women’s child, the biological mother or father or other family members may change their mind and then take away the baby I had been wanting to raise since first go married. I had no power in our ability to have biological children let alone adopt, so at least I can direct the narrative of our situation and “Let God, let go.” 

Obviously, Hubby and I ultimately decided that if it was meant to be, then it would be. And since nothing came of it, we decided to be fur parents instead. After finally making the decision to remain child-free, I felt the entire weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. 

So after reading my own experience, ask me again if I’m pro-life or pro-choice. Ask me if I believe that each person is unique and that their life experiences lead them to make the decision they do / did. I know what I am, but I want you, as a reader, decide on where I stand — and where YOU stand — on this issue. 

Okay, as I knew this would be a long post, I will just leave off here and continue my rant in the following (long) post. 

Read Part 2 now. Or later. I have no problem if you decided to take a break, especially if you feel I’ve talked (written?) your ear (eyes?) off.

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Dark Spaces and Other Things

I went to a dark space this past week. I went back to the land of longing for a child of my own.

That’s a place, while always in the back of my mind, that I haven’t been to in a long time.

It started when I found out that a newer co-worker of mine had triplets. So naturally I asked if this was a surprise to her when she found out she was having triplets. That’s when I found out that she and her husband had done IVF and had succeeded with pregnancy after their second try; a frozen cycle from the remaining embryos from her first try.

D*mn it. I was jealous.

So jealous that I thought of our one failed IVF cycle and the failed ability to even have tried a frozen cycle. Which then had me thinking that if we did succeed with our cycle, our child/children would be 9 years old.

Nine. Years. Old. What a different person I might have become if we were successful.

Maybe I wouldn’t be such a sad person inside. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so anxious all the time. Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of failure like I am about everything in my life.

I know. I’m realistic enough to know I could still be the same person I am today, with or without kids. However, I do know that my fear of failure stems from the belief that I grew up with: If you try hard at anything, you will succeed.

Except as hard as Hubby & I tried to conceive, we did not succeed.

Failing at trying to procreate was the first time I ever had to question that belief. The corresponding darkness that followed our failed IVF only allowed me more time to question whether anything I do would only result in failure.

So the dark place I was at this week? It all boiled down to my fear of failure in EVERYTHING I do. From feeling like I’m a failure at work, to feeling like I’m a failure in my personal life.

I’m still a little fragile from this past week … probably will be for a while, if I’m being honest with myself … but I’m trying to be better. Trying to realize that sometimes failures can be opportunities for improvement. And trying to remember that mistakes are really just mis-takes.

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I Want My Mommy

Earlier this week Hubby & I woke up at an ungodly hour. My mom was flying out to the Philippines and needed a ride to the airport. It being an international flight, she needed to be at the airport at least 3 hours before take-off.

Her flight was at 7:00 am.

Needless to say, Hubby & I got little sleep the night before.

With Hubby staying curbside, I was able to help check my Mom in at the airport and say a proper good-bye before she headed into the security line.

What she said to me in those moments have stuck with me this past week and have made me realize that, as much as I think I’m okay, I’m still not quite okay.

On the way home from the airport, I cried. Cried, because I was already missing my Mom who would be gone for six whole weeks. Cried, because I knew that it was time to make another appointment … one I haven’t had in about six months now.

Cried, because as much of an adult I (supposedly) am, there are still some days that I just want to be a child again and want Mom to tell me that everything is going to be alright.

Things will be alright, I know. Even though they’re not right now. I know this because I have the love and support of a wonderful husband and … even though we don’t get along all the time … my mom.

I miss you, Mom. Hope you’re having a blast in the Philippines.