Still Here

Thank you, each of you, for your sincere and heartfelt comments.  I suck at returning them and have once again failed miserably at ICLW.  I am (mostly) still reading, though in spurts, and you are all in my thoughts quite often.  But finding time to blog, or comment, is hard with so much up in the air right now.

Mo and I have reached an uneasy peace, for now.  I say uneasy because I just don't know how long it will last.  He's smooth, my husband, and he knows how to say all the right things.  He is the king of promises and "I'm sorry's."

And I always believe him.

Some of you may scoff, and my dark tone here would never convince you, but I believe my optimism is to blame.  I always have hope -- hope that we can one day get past all of this, hope that I can have everything I ever wanted.

I have hope that happiness, true and lasting happiness, is always just around the corner.

I spent my twenties waiting for that happiness to materialize.  I can't spend my thirties waiting, too.

I expect that things aren't really settled, despite our flimsy compromises this week.  I suspect that another bump (or two, or three) is lurking in the distance.  I still can't say in which direction I'm headed, or where on earth I'm going to end up.

I just know that something's gotta change.

And since I can't change him, I'm gonna have to start with me.

If only I had any idea where to begin......

Clarity

That's what is missing for me in my life right now.

I am tired of living in metaphors and symbolic gestures.

I am tired of trying to figure out what my husband is thinking, tired of trying to make peace, tired of fighting the battles I'm facing both big and small.

My marriage is in trouble, friends.

It's never been what anyone would call "smooth sailing" round these parts, but I have to say the last few years have been calmer than years before.  So why now?

Perhaps now time feels more pressing, urging me to make decisions while I still have it on my side.  Perhaps now I'm just worn thinner than I was before.  Perhaps now there are certain things I'm just not willing to tolerate.  Perhaps I've become wiser with age.

Perhaps not.

I am torn with indecision, not because I don't know what to do, but because I am afraid I will one day regret it.  I'm afraid of making the "wrong" decision, afraid that it won't lead to the outcome I desire most.

A family.

Living children.

A happy home.

Those are the things I want.  Those are my priorities.

And, in all honesty, I have no idea how to go about creating the reality I want.

Mo is miserable here.  He hates the town we live in, the state, everything.  He is thisclose to throwing in the towel and giving up on all of it.  He is tired of the infertility, the money being thrown away, the heartbreak and constant disappointments.  I don't blame him for any of it.

And yet I do.

I blame him for making shitty decisions, for not handling things as an adult should.  I blame him for dragging his feet and letting this journey go on as long as it has.  I blame him for stringing me along for years with the promise of a future that may never materialize.

I know I'm being vague. There are issues -- specific issues -- that we are battling.  I am just not ready to bare it all here just yet.  I have more thinking to do, more decisions to make first.

I'm scared, friends.  I feel like things are spinning out of my control and I have no way of reigning them in.  Everything has become a muddy, hazy, shade of gray -- the past, the present, the future.  I can't see clearly any more -- I feel like I'm driving blind down a dark and winding road with no headlights.

I need a road map for this uncharted territory....unfortunately, I'm going to have to write it myself.

And I've lost all sense of direction.

Which Road?

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both,

And be one traveler, long I stood,

And looked down one as far as I could,

To where it bent in the undergrowth.....

(from "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost)

I feel like I am standing at a crossroads, a pivotal moment in my journey, and I cannot for the life of me decide which path to take.  I wish it was a simple as two possible outcomes -- but there are several roads I could take, all of which could lead me into several different conclusions.  Being a planner, I try to have the foresight to look at each possible path and each possible outcome -- but the truth is, there does eventually become a hazy area, that bent place in the road, where you can no longer see where it is taking you.

My marriage does not handle limbo very well, and we seem stuck there for the next few months anyway.  There have been some recent speedbumps (none nearly as catastrophic as those in years past -- let's call those a ten-car pile-up in the middle of a blizzard, with lots and lots of casualties) -- this is tame in comparison.  But every speedbump and pothole seems to trigger some sort of out-of-context reaction in me -- I don't have an official diagnosis, but post-traumatic stress syndrome seems awfully close.  I can't see the road in front of me some days because I am so focused on the looming obstacles that are around the next corner.

I could, in theory, just stand here at the crossroads indefinitely.  Perhaps, over time, the paths in front of me would become clearer, one drenched in sunshine and happiness and the other black with impending doom.  But that's the problem with life -- it is impossible to stand still for long.  Even if you refuse to decide, life has a way of pushing down a particular road, like it or not.  Not choosing is as much a choice as choosing is.

I've come to a fork in the road, and at some point very soon I am going to have to take a deep breath and plunge forward down one path or the other (or the other, or the other....).  All paths have the potential for happiness, or for disaster.  The problem is, once I choose, it will be impossible to ever come back.  I am terrified of regretting my choice, so terrified that I am frozen with indecision.

I want someone to tell me which path to take, which road will bring me to the destination I ultimately seek.  However, as I do not believe in fate nor any intervening dieties, I don't think that's possible.  I am not destined for one life or another -- it all lies within my reach, within my decisions and my resulting actions.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.  

I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I -- 

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.    

If only every decision didn't have such far-reaching consequences, this would be so much easier.  

Intangibles

I read a post the other day that bothered me.  It was written by someone I've read for a while now, but whom I would still consider to be at the early stages of this game.  She is younger than me, which I wouldn't have thought ten years ago would matter.

Something she said, though.

All of us, in our venting, have the right to be heard.  I'm not taking that away from her, nor saying she is wrong. It just -- bothered me.

She wrote about wanting to know when it would be her turn to dress her baby in cute Easter outfits.  And I can remember that feeling.  I remember it oh-so-well.  I remember walking down the baby aisle, fingering the clothes, with a giant lump in my throat.  Now I avoid that section like the plague, but once -- once I, too, dreamed of all the cute clothes and tiny shoes and the neat strollers.  I pictured myself driving around with my baby in the back seat, smiling and happy in my SUV, a carefree young mom.

But now?

Now, it's no longer about the tiny dresses or the adorable nursery decor.  I don't think about possible names, or try to figure out a special way to tell my husband we're expecting.

For me, the tangibles have long ceased to matter.  I don't mourn the loss of the growing belly shots or adorable newborn photography sessions.  Instead, I worry about who is going to hold my hand when I die.  Who will remember me, tell my stories, pass on my recipe for homemade popcorn.  I worry about where I will go for holidays after my parents pass on.

I don't think very often anymore about the things I'm missing now: the funny toddler stories, the sleepless nights, the presents I would be buying or the activities we would be doing (and inevitably posting on FB).  

I do think, perhaps morbidly so, about what I'm going to miss out on later,  if we never have children: the family traditions that won't be passed on, the bedrooms that will forever stand empty and waiting.  The sad looks that I will eventually get, the whispers I will notice.  I think about who will miss me.  Who will wish that I was there, sharing in their special moments?

These intangibles are what haunt me the most, when I honestly contemplate a future without children.  It's so much more than babies, and Easter outfits, and sweet cuddles and kisses.

I want a baby, yes.

But I want a family more.