The holidays are wrapped up and a semi-sense of order is returning to our household. We un-decorated the Christmas plant, put all the wrapping paper where it lives all year in the basement, and will eat the last 2 Christmas cookies in short order (the many chocolates will have to wait to be consumed as there are more of those than there are days in January). The Holidays were not as awful as some of have been in the past, and for that I am thankful. We were able to strike a balance between time at home and time with our families. The best part for me was to spent Christmas eve and Christmas day at home, cooking boeuf bourguignon for the first time in my life. Do you have any idea how satisfying it is to pour a whole bottle of Beaujolais into a dish? Very. I was a vegetarian for close to 15 years and recently decided to eat the occasional piece of meat, and this year's foray into cooking the French beef stew has made me appreciate the change even more (which is nice, since I often consume meat with a side dish of guilt for what I am doing to the planet and the animals. But that's another post).
I did a lot of walking yesterday, which afforded me time to reflect a little on 2011. What I came up with is that I felt a pretty constant sense of being under water. You can't hear or see very well underwater and everything happens in slow motion. This is funny considering all that transpired over the last year. The DE cycle, my PhD defense, the pregnancy, the miscarriage, the hectic job, the new job, the trip to Cuba, etc. There was so much happening in my outside life while on the inside, it seems I felt immersed (drowning at times) in a thick soup and slowed down in my thinking. As someone who wishes to be able to live in the present moment, I achieved that almost never this past year.
I must say at this point that I feel less terrible than I did from May 25 through to November. There is a lot to be thankful for in the past year, despite the hard blows. The support and love from our friends and family has been significant, including your support and friendship. William James told us that 'it is your friends who make your world'. I have wondered often this year how small my world could become as grief kept pulling me towards more isolation and less human contact. It was good to know that here (and with close irl friends), there were women who cared about me no matter what I wrote or didn't write. Even with the long lapses in between my posts, you came back and left me a comment or sent me an email to check in. To all of you, thank you.
I have to work tomorrow, Tuesday and Wednesday, and then we travel to SG for our Friday marathon appointment. When I talk about it, people tell me I seem very low key and wonder if I am feeling hopeful. As you have all experienced, the infertile's relationship to hope is a complex one. I am once again flirting with hope, but certainly not buying what he has to sell. Yet.