Tomorrow

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the date I've been holding in my head since I first saw that positive pee stick (what seems like ages ago). Tomorrow marks what should have been 12 weeks -- the end of my first trimester, the point at which I could finally relax and feel somewhat "safe."

It also marks six weeks (exactly) since I miscarried.

Tomorrow I will have been "not pregnant" exactly as long as I actually was pregnant. Well, that's not entirely true -- I've been "not pregnant" for far, far longer than I ever was the opposite. But, somehow, post-miscarriage "not pregnant" is different than all those years previous.

There is hope, for one. Hope that I've gotten there before, and will somehow, someday find my way back.

There is a deep sadness, for another. I am still processing my grief over what will never be. I can go days now without sobbing, and then the tears sneak up on me in unexpected places.

Ironically, tomorrow is also my in-office hysteroscopy, my follow-up to make sure that there is no leftover tissue from my miscarriage. It will serve as my clearance to start treatments again with our next cycle. If all goes well, six weeks later we will transfer our frozen blasts and hope for the best.

Tomorrow is my last day in town before we head to Podunk to look for a house, to officially begin the move that we've contemplated for so long.

Tomorrow is a halfway-point, a juncture in the road. A transition from one failed pregnancy into the possibility of another. A segue between our life here, and now, and our life as we want it to be.

Tomorrow I will stand in limbo, looking both forward and back. I will pause in this brief window of time and remember my lost little one, and all the hopes and dreams I had for him. I will reflect on my ten years spent in this town, the heartbreaks and joys, the frustration and pain. And then, somehow, I will find within the strength to close that door and open another. I will look toward my family, and the love that awaits us in our new/old hometown. I will try, try, try to be optimistic about the future, about our upcoming FET, about leaving behind what I spent so much time meticulously building. I will remember that a new chapter in our lives is beginning, and with that comes possibilities that I never could have imagined.

Tomorrow will be just another day for most of the world. But, for me, tomorrow is both the beginning and the end. The end of what was, and the beginning of what will be.

Tomorrow.

*gulp*

So, I did it.

Today I put in for an official leave of absence. I am now unemployed for the first time since I was sixteen.

I'm still not sure if it was the smartest move I've ever made, or the dumbest.

For better or worse, I am now financially dependent on Mo. While I'm confident he can take care of me in this regard, I'm so fiercely independent by nature that this doesn't sit 100% well with me. I'm simply not used to depending on anyone besides myself, not used to not contributing financially. Does this mean a power shift in our household? Probably. I'm realistic enough to know that money = power even in the very best of relationships. The power to decide, for instance, on the house we will rent. Will he ask my input? Of course. Will, ultimately, the decision rest with him because he is the one signing the checks? Undoubtedly.

Are you beginning to sense some of my money issues, here, people?

I really think, though, that this shift might actually be good for our marriage.

Without a doubt, I've taken the leadership role financially and emotionally in our relationship. I've been reluctant to give up those reins, for various reasons. Mo has, for the most part, allowed me to do this quite gracefully. Have I perhaps made him feel as though he doesn't contribute in the process? I am quite sure I have. This is, in part, one way that I can give him some purpose back, help him to feel needed and necessary. Which, in turn, will (I hope) have a positive effect on his self-esteem, which will only be good for us.

Does it feel strange, this new life that I'm headed for? Indeed. It feels awkward and somewhat alien, like the sudden growth spurt of puberty where your body that is clearly your own somehow overnight becomes yours no longer.

And yet I have hope that soon I will begin to feel at home in this new skin, in this new life that I've longed for. I have hope that my husband, who is re-emerging more and more each day, and I will be able to reconnect, to find those people who have been hiding under the clouds of depression for much longer than either of us would like to admit.

It may seem to my new readers that this move is extreme, based on the circumstances. And, had it only been my miscarriage that prompted it, I would tend to agree. But the truth of the matter is that Mo and I have been floundering for years. We got lost in his father's illness, his passing, Mo's illness, our grief. I lost myself in the battle against infertility, a battle I still hope to win one day. Instead of growing closer, we've grown apart.

This move is our attempt to start fresh. To erase four years of bad memories and heartache. To find, once again, the people we loved. Will it work? I don't have the slightest idea.

I simply know that I have to try.

So Much, So Much To Tell You

The last five days have been dark. They've been full of anger, frustration, and anxiety. They've been days I hope never to relive again.

But, in the end, there is peace.

We've made a decision, folks. It's a risky one, but what in life isn't?

After much thought, we've decided to move home.

As in, NOW.

Mo will resign his teaching position tomorrow. I am finishing out the week, and then taking a leave of absence for the remainder of the year (I'm tenured, so I have that option. He does not).

On Saturday, we will head back home for several days to find a place to rent. Once we do, we'll come back and tie up our loose ends (put the house on the market, pack, etc.), and then it's back for GOOD.

It is probably the craziest, most "irresponsible" thing I've ever done. And I thank God that we even have the option. We have enough money (more in fact) to make this happen without adding undo stress on our already fragile marriage. I need to be with my family. Mo needs to be with my family. We need to get out of this town and the rut that we are in.

I've always been Little Miss Responsible (because, let's be honest, Mo is not) and so I've been the one insisting we finish out the school year. I've been the one resolute against giving up our jobs (and the "extra" two months of pay over the summer) before June. No more.

The last few days have been heartwrenching. But I've come to a conclusion: my husband, my MARRIAGE, means more to me than money. And if we have to take a hit to our IRA and our "future" security to save our relationship, then so be it.

I never married him for his money. Until two years ago, we didn't have any. We will be fine, financially speaking. So then what's the hold-up? Some ill-placed loyalty toward a school I don't like? People leave jobs mid-year all the time. I will find another position in the fall, of that I'm confident.

The ONLY drawback to this is that I will have to relinquish my beloved laptop (it belongs to the county). Without it, I am sure that posts will be infrequent. I will try my best, but please don't freak out if I don't post for a while. Know that I am OK, that I am doing what I need to do for myself, and for my husband.

Wish us luck.

Ah, The Familiar Same Ol' Shit

In case you've been wondering, my most loyal of bloggy friends, I'm not the only one who has been suffering in la casa de la MoJo. Unsurprisingly, my miscarriage has hit my husband pretty hard. And, given that he already suffers from depression and a host of other issues, all of it is bound to come to a head eventually.

I lost it Thursday night. Not for the first time, obviously, but he, for the first time, really seemed to hear me. I unloaded everything, absolutely everything, that was on my heart. I held nothing back -- something I'm still not sure was the best idea.

And for the first time ever, Mo admitted he had a problem.

I was blown away.

But cautious.

It's been a weird weekend since.

Friday I started packing up my classroom. I don't know if I'll make it the rest of the year, and certain things I wanted packed and brought home. There is quite a bit I'm willing to walk away from, but not everything. Since we have state testing coming up, and the end of the trimester in a few weeks (which necessitates a room change), no one seemed to think it odd that I was getting a head start.

Friday night I went to see a movie with a girlfriend of mine. Mo went out -- I don't know where -- but was home early. He stayed up all night playing poker online.

Saturday I went through the motions. I cleaned, I packed, I staged the guest bedrooms. I brought Mo food around 5. He slept all day, but woke up to eat. And then proceeded to stay up all night again.

He went out for about 30 minutes to go get a movie. . .but, come to think of it, there's no movie here. Huh.

So now he's sleeping again. We have a party planned in 45 minutes. I've got the food, the decorations, everything is ready. Except him.

A friend I've never met (though I've heard of him) stopped by today. The visit was brief, and I know there's more to it than Mo will tell me.

I confronted him. I'm trying to support him -- I know he's depressed, he's dealing with it poorly, and he knows it.

But, right now, I'm not strong enough to help him.

I can hardly help myself.

This is when I need him the most. I need my husband. I need someone to take care of me until the blackness that fills my head clears.

Instead, he's so wrapped up in himself and his own grief that he cannot help me, nor even help himself.

Maybe its a good thing we lost the baby. People like this -- people like us -- don't really need to have children, do we?

We can't even take care of ourselves.

Not-so-funny

Isn't it a not-so-funny thing, the way tragedy and heartbreak lend themselves to these great posts. . . and how the calm following the storm leaves you high and dry?

I haven't been blogging or commenting much because, really, I don't have much to say. I'm still reading and rooting along my IF sisters -- I just don't have the energy to reach out to them. That sounds bad, given that so many of you have reached out to ME in my time of need. It's just. . .I don't know. The minutiae of IVF seems almost anti-climactic these days. I'm not cycling, though I think about it all the time. I am anxious for our frozen cycle, for our upcoming move, for a fresh start. But all of that seems so far away. Right now it is all I can do to get through the day, to get up, get dressed, go to work, cook dinner, fold laundry. Mo said that to me last night -- how he feels like he's just barely hanging on, going through the motions, but not really present in any of it. It is such a letdown after all the highs and lows of the past two months. I can't sleep unless I take something, and even then I wake frequently during the night. The good news, if you could call it that, is that I haven't cried since Friday. Or was it Saturday? Either way -- these gray, blah days are better than the all-consuming misery of my miscarriage. I *think* I'm healing -- it's just a much slower, more gradual process than I ever could have imagined.