Thursday, May 19, 2011

The Cocoon

It's funny how life happens.  Over the past few days, I feel as though I have been pulling further and further out of the cocoon I created for myself around this time last year.  I feel that each day something else happens that makes me realize just how lost I was in my cocoon. 

I was going through some photos this week that were taken over the past 3-4 years.  I had to slowly click through each photo and look at everything, as I always do.  While looking at the photos I noticed something.  I realized that life kept moving while I was stuck in a bubble trying to become pregnant.  I realized this when I came to a photo of Brian's little brother.  The photo was from Christmas of 2007, which was right around the same time Brian and I started to try to conceive.  The person in the photo was the person that I had been seeing each time I looked at his brother, until recently.  We had a communion party this weekend and when I looked at Brian's brother I realized he had gotten much older.  He went from a high school freshman to a senior, about to graduate, in a matter of a moment.  That made me wonder, what else had I missed. 

I quickly found myself scanning through wedding pictures of Brian and I.  I realized very quickly that in four short years we had really aged.  We no longer had the look of young adults.  Our skin is now more blemished, we have both gained some weight (me more than him), and we now hold loss in our eyes (something that we never could have expected four years ago). 

I started to realize that the time we had spent trying for our future we had actually lost our present.   I don't think Brian feels this way as much as I do.  But I can say, that just within the past few days, reality has set in.  I had been living my life month to month while trying to conceive.  That was 26 months.  I was only focused on ovulation days and cycle dates, the other days were lived but not appreciated.  We lost and then we started all over again. 

The loss, yes, we lost Wyatt.  My days were more of a burden, like carrying a load of heavy rocks.  Though I had 12 weeks off for maternity leave, I did nothing.  It was tough to get up, do daily tasks, and live.  After returning to work it was still difficult.  I was faced with hiding the pain, painting on a smile, and acting 'normal'.  Again, days were lived but not appreciated. 

Things are changing.  I have recently realized what has been missed - four years of my life.  Four years have been lived but not lived as they should have been lived.  Every moment should be lived as if the moment is a gift because ultimately it is.  It is funny because I thought of this while walking into work today.  I was walking over the crosswalk and thought, "every moment of life should be lived like it is a gift, for we don't know when the gifts will stop being given". 

Ironically (or maybe it was meant to happen), I had a conversation with a friend this morning.  The conversation was about baby loss and we got on the topic of living life without living it.  Seems odd that I walked into work thinking about life and then I have a conversation with a friend about it.  After the conversation was over, I again realized how much I am pulling out of that cocoon that I was so comfy in.  It has been awhile, but I think I may be ready to let go of the cocoon and spread my wings, not to forget but to live.

I found this poem today and wanted to share, as I think it is wonderful and does a good job with explaining my life over the past one year.

Don't Tell Me
Please don't tell me you know how I feel,
Unless you have lost your child too,
Please don't tell me my broken heart will heal,
Because that is just not true,
Please don't tell me my son is in a better place,
Though it is true, I want him here with me,
Don't tell me someday I'll hear his voice, see his face,
Beyond today I cannot see,
Don't tell me it is time to move on,
Because I cannot,
Don't tell me to face the fact he is gone,
Because denial is something I can't stop,
Don't tell me to be thankful for the time I had,
Because I wanted more,
Don't tell me when I am my old self you will be glad,
I'll never be as I was before,
What you can tell me is you will be here for me,
That you will listen when I talk of my child,
You can share with me my precious memories,
You can even cry with me for a while,
And please don't hesitate to say his name,
Because it is something I long to hear everyday,
Friend please realize that I can never be the same,
But if you stand by me, you may like the new person I become someday.

Judi Walker
(In Memory of Shane)
Copyright 1998

1 comment:

Holly said...

It's easy to live in a cocoon afterward. Slowly you have to emerge out of it or you'll never really live again. And I don't think that's what our children would want for us.