After a Mother's Day from hell (from humiliation at Mass to dealing with my SIL to coming home to AF a day early), I am feeling very... drained. Infertility has just left me utterly drained to the point where I don't even want to try anymore. This is NOT like me. I am not a quitter. But I am feeling so numb from all the face-slapping every single cycle. There are no infertility "nerves" left to feel anything other than exhausted.
I am still looking forward to the Clear Passage Therapy next month, but not with the same passion I once had. Might have a little bit to do with the fact that I will be no-pot-to-piss-in-broke afterwards.
For the past 2 months, I have been seeing hawks everywhere. Here's what I wrote in a post about Hawks back in 2009:
Medicine cards are like Tarot cards, but they have animals on them and each animal signifies something. So he looked up Hawk, and this is what it said:
"Hawk: Messenger. Hawk medicine teaches you to be observant, to look at your surroundings. Observe the obvious in everything you do. Life is sending you signals...
If you pulled the Hawk card, then right now a clue about the magic of life is being brought to you...
The Ancients recognized this magnificent bird of prey as a messenger bringing tidings to their Earth Walk from the world of the grandfathers and grandmothers who lived before them. If Hawk were to magically cry, it was a sign to beware or be aware. The cry could mark the coming of a warring tribe, the birth of a child, or the celebration of counting coup. Hawk's cry signalled the need for the beholder to heighten awareness and receive a message."
I've always seen them when I'm at my most vulnerable, and I know this is God's special way of showing me He hasn't forgotten me. I know He is working in me, and I know that my Resurrection Day will come, with or without children. But that doesn't change the pain I feel at not being able to bear children, to adopt children, or to foster children. The pain is so real, so acute at times, that it is hard to breathe.
Kneeling at the pews on Sunday for Mother's Day Mass, I almost felt like I was committing a sacrilege as I whipped through my three prayers at record speed, with no emotion, except a hint of bitterness. Is it better not to pray at times like that? I felt like a bratty kid who's told to finish his supper, so he stuffs the food in his mouth and then spits it back out. I was mad. Fuming. Why has God not heard me? I wanted to know. I wanted answers. And I wasn't going to pray until I got some.
I feel a bit better today, because as we all know, CD 1 is the lowest it gets physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. You can only go up from CD 1. But I'm still not satisfied.
I'm reminded of my early high school years, when I used to pray SO HARD that the boy I had a big crush on would someday be my boyfriend. I would BEG God to just somehow let me know if I were going to be his prom date the following year. I wished I had a crystal ball to look into, just to be able to see if I were with him in the limo or not. I felt like I couldn't get rid of that crazy teenage-in-love angst without knowing one way or another.
I did wind up going to the prom the following year with the boy. But I wasn't given that promise, or that glimpse into the future, by God. Instead, I had to go through my entire junior year wondering, hoping, and waiting.
Now, as 30 looms its ugly head, I hope and pray that God will give me a glimpse into the future - will I ever have a child to call my own? I know I can go on and live a joyful, peaceful life if I knew, EITHER WAY. It's the not knowing that kills me.
I don't want my 30s and 40s to be a 20-Year Two-Week-Wait.
I have such little hope left.