No no matter how much you think you’re prepared to hear the news you were expecting, it still beats the shit out of you when you realize the truth.
There’s a poem by Leslea Newman called Attitude Adjustment that I can’t ever seem to get out of my head. It goes…
I am a negative person
A very negative person.
I have always been a negative person.
My mother said, “Don’t be so negative,”
My father said, “Accentuate the positive,”
I say, “Expect the worst.
If it happens, you won’t be disappointed.
If it doesn’t happen, you’ll be surprised.”
And I’ve tried to live by that since I first read those lines.
It hasn’t worked.
By nature, I am positive. By nature, I hurt.
When my wife starts feeling down about anything I am usually the one who tries to cheer her on and reassure that no matter what comes our way, we will get through it as we always have. And we do. But still, I hurt.
We have been waiting to hear good news for a very long time now. We have changed plans, we have switched paths, we have tried artificial methods, controlled substances, natural drugs, known donors, anonymous donors, kissing, not kissing, making love…
In hopes that we will get that love in return.
When will it be our turn? When will we feel like we’re complete?
When will we stop hurting?
Don’t get me wrong, I am complete with her. What we have is algo ùnico, something unique. Something no one else can come between. But we ache.
I’ve heard the song of our child. I’ve dreamed that her mother (my wife’s) has bought a new home with an entire nursery to spoil our little baby balu. She (my wife) is the most motherly instinctive person I have ever met. And yet…we’re here.
Back to square one.
Back to where it hurts.
Back to where we get knocked down after weeks of holding on to hope. After feeling physical things we were sure were going to be the “yes, this is now.”
And we wait.
And we plan.
And we cancel sending out Christmas cards this year because it just wouldn’t be the same.
And I act like everything’s okay while I get teary eyed at work.
And even though it’s the most painful gut-wrenching-i-feel-like-throwing-up kind of pain, I hold on to hope.
Because I know you’re out there baby, and we’re right here.
We’ll always be right here.