Grief-Cleaning, IF-Junk Edition

One productive thing I did do this fall was clean out all the clutter that's magically appeared in my home, in the years that I've been pouring time and energy into other things. Like these things. (BINGO x 12! Yay—what prize do I win?)

Around that same time, I saw the image linked above and realized that I had every single one of these types of "infertility detritus." Even the "lucky" stirrup socks. (Screw you, socks. You're fired!)

The only square I cheated on a bit was the used pregnancy test. In the brief time I was pregnant, I went through a dozen of them—just to make SURE—and saved them for months. But they do fade and get yucky, so I took photos before throwing them out. Photos count, I think.

I'll probably always keep those photos. But why was I keeping three boxes of used needles in the bathroom and expired meds in the fridge? That one vial of Gonal-f way in the back expired 16 months ago.

Good times.

It was easy to get rid of some things, like the needles and the meds. Then I started on the boxes of IF paperwork by sorting them into 10 piles, including info related to finances, medications, cycle details, pregnancy, miscarriage, and so on, plus one pile about holistic strategies. That last one brought on a sad smile. Did I really once think that spicy foods and pigeon pose might get me pregnant? Apparently, I did.

Although I couldn't bear to throw away much of the paperwork, I did move it from the dining room table, where it had been the centerpiece for far too long, to a filing cabinet on the periphery. Maybe someday those files will graduate into the trash. Not yet.

Like the creator of the wonderful bingo card linked above, I've wondered whether "keeping a box of sadness is totally normal." After all, if I ever am lucky enough to get pregnant again, I'm sure the OB's office will gladly give me a new copy of their "Prenatal Nutrition" handout.

So why hold onto this junk now? Because I'm not able to accept the loss? Because these things document how close I came? Because the sheer volume of stuff bears witness to what a long and—whatever the outcome—life-changing journey this has been?

Yes. All of the above.

Silent Night

There's not much to say. What I've been doing this fall has been very distracting (on purpose) but not meaningful (also on purpose). I can't do meaningful now, not quite yet. After the years of TTC, I can't keep forcing myself to focus on things that hurt. So there have been distractions...

And then there are nights like tonight: snow falling, making the city quiet and still. Christmas lights. Memories of a night like this two years ago.

You know how, when someone writes a brokenhearted post, and there's nothing to say because they've just said it all, people sometimes simply write "Abiding with you" or words to that effect? I've felt your presence, abiding with me these past two years, and I'm thankful.

Tonight I'll try to give myself that same gift: turn down the volume on all the junk I've been using to fill up my mind, and just abide with what's left.