It’s Thursday night. And even though I had the evening I had for myself (knowing that Hubby had prior obligations that kept him from staying in tonight), I find myself with nothing to do.

I had planned on knitting all evening, but didn’t feel motivated to do so. I had also planned on cleaning out the closet and dressers to donate more clothes to the Salvation Army; which I only partially finished. Then I tried my hand at playing some online games and didn’t quite feel myself get into the rhythm, so I just gave up. There’s nothing on TV and no new movies to watch on cable.

So here I sit with my laptop on and a blank page beckoning me to type some meaningful words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs. Yet I don’t know exactly what to say. Well, except maybe this:

It’s been a difficult year.

And yet as much as I’m trying to move forward with my life, I somehow can’t seem to take anything bigger than baby steps.

I struggle to remember if it was this hard to “get over” my failed IVF — the loss of a total of three “would-be” babies — as it is to “get over” the death of my father. The lines are so blurred these days. But I do know I’m in the same place that I was close to five years ago when I pretty much gave up hope of ever having biological children of my own.

Oh yes, I’m in that deep dark space below. And it sucks.

I’m not sure if these feelings are magnified because of an upcoming anniversary date this Saturday or not. What I do know is that this restless, unsettled feeling is very unnerving. And I wish it would just go away. But somehow I just know that it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.

So if you got a moment … and I truly don’t mean to be such a pity-party right now … but if you can spare a few seconds, could you say a quick prayer or a positive thought my way just so I can make it through the next few days? Because I could really use some bloggie love right about now.


4 Replies to “Unsettled”

  1. Oh, Emily, (((hugs))). I’m very willing to bet that upcoming “anniversary” has a LOT to do with what you’re feeling right now. I know my loss is different from yours — and yet there is a common thread that runs through all forms of grief, I think — so I’ll dare to expound just a little. ; ) From my own experience with “anniversaries,” the first one is the hardest — and the anticipation/leadup is usually worse than the day of. The fact that it’s “the most wonderful time of the year” when we’re urged to be merry & bright just rubs salt in the wound, I think.

    You’ll never stop missing your dad, just as I have never stopped missing my Katie. (And my grandparents, at this time of year, especially.) But it DOES get better. I promise.

    Many, many (((HUGS))).

  2. ((((Emily))))
    Grief is a tricky thing. It sucks to to have to go through it, but its necessary that we do – otherwise we can’t move on.

    I know your grief is different than mine, but just know that I think of you often. My heart breaks with yours. Grief seems to get so much bigger during the holidays. Because we are expected to be joyful and merry when really there is no joy because that person, or dream, is not tangible to experience the joy with us.

    I wish I could give you a real hug.

  3. I always expected grief to be linear. And it really isn’t. Really, really, really isn’t.

    I’m sorry the darkness is closing in. I’ll pray that you feel the warmth of sunshine, even for a bit, soon.

  4. Little steps can form a very long path. You’ve come far and before you know it, when you look back you’ll wonder how is it that I’ve traveled so far. And I’ll be there on that journey with you. :*

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.