This Might Hurt a Bit

I've been feeling the need for some introspection this week. Sunday was Ada's due date.  Today is Willliam's.  He would be four.  This week has stunk.

It's been worse than I thought it would be.  No, not worse. Just different.  And maybe worse.  A worse kind of different.

The months between when we lost William and when he was due were rough.  Really rough. But I remember when we got to William's due date the first time around.  It was a beautiful day, and it was sad, but it was happy too.  It was peaceful, and wistful, and calm.  I thought about it all day, and then it was over, and I was okay, for the most part.

This time, it's been opposite.  We went through the horror of what was the physical recovery this time, and then I moved on.  But I moved on with a little spot of bitterness left in my heart from that experience.  People who know me might be surprised by that, but it's there.  I'm not sure what the bitterness is towards, and it's very small, and it's insignificant in my overall life.  But I think it is what has caused me to react differently this time.  It made me push everything aside instead of dealing with things, until last month, when I no longer had huge projects to distract me, and it all just came spilling out, all these unresolved emotions, all these feelings of regret, and sorrow, and...anger maybe? Maybe that's what the bitterness is.  Anger at how my doctors handled things.  Anger at the situation.  Anger that I'm dealing with this again, and I don't want to.  I just want to ignore it.  I just want it to go away.

Why do I put myself through this every year?  Why did I give my children names, and why do I do things on what would have been their birthdays, and why do we talk about them and give them identities and make them part of our family?  Why do I torture myself with all that?  Why can't I just be like other women and let it go, or at least pretend to let it go even though I may never let it go inside? Sometimes I think I'm being overly dramatic, and I wonder if I'm trying to get attention or something.  But that's not me.  I'm a no-drama kind of person (except on stage).  I don't do things like that.

No.  This is real.  And I think I know the reason for it all.

I feel things deeply. I always have.  Not in an easily-offended, make-small-situations-into-big-deals kind of way, but when I feel happiness, or sorrow, or compassion, or love, I feel it with everything I have, with my whole body, with my whole soul.  I throw everything I have into every life experience, whether it is a positive one or not.  I believe we are equal parts our joyful and sorrowful experiences, and I think we feel those opposites to the same extreme.  When I feel joy, and love, and life (which is most of the time, despite the seriousness of this post), I feel it fully.  And so, when I feel sorrow, and grief, and sadness, I feel it just as fully.  That is how life works.  That is the law of opposites.  Sometimes I envy those who go through life feeling those emotions only dully.  But then I remember those incredible impactful moments of extreme joy--the arrival of my children (all four of them, in their own way), moments of belly-aching laughter and unconditional love shared with Ben, family vacations, glimpses at God's love for me, overwhelming moments standing on a stage doing what I love--and I know I would NEVER trade the way I felt in them.  Even if it means today is awful.

And therein lies the answer to my questions.  Why do I do this to myself?  Why do I torture myself every year?  Because I love those two little ones in that same extreme that I feel all other emotions.  To steal a line from a play, one that spoke to me every time I heard it, I've realized I have a great capacity to love.  And that capacity was filled from the first moment I knew those children where there, from the first moment I saw their heartbeats, from the first moment I felt them move.  They are real.  They were alive.  They are my children, even if I only physically had them for a few months. And I loved them just as much as I've loved any other person in my life--to the fullest.  Of course I'm going to remember them, and miss them, and feel their loss.  That is how I do things. With everything I have to give.

I'm sure, in days to come, I will still compare.  I will feel self-conscious knowing other women move on, forget, do things differently.  I'm sure there will still be moments of introspection when I ask, "What is wrong with you?" Then I have to just tell myself, "Kirsten, yes.  Of course you are going to be different than other women.  You are going to handle this situation in this way, because you are YOU.  And this is how you live your life.  With nothing held back."

It's time to stop holding back and being bitter.  It's okay to embrace the extremes.  Because they make me who I am.

Today, I'm going to.  I'm pulling out my August birthstone necklace, that I've avoided wearing all week.  Instead of leaving them to fade in a plastic bag, I'm taking my ultrasound pictures from Ada and making copies, so I never lose them.  I'm thinking of her instead of trying to ignore her simply because it was easier to do so. I'm letting her back into my life.  I'm remembering William.  Because guess what?  They are my children.  My beautiful, joy-filled, patient children, from whom I continue to learn every day.  This is how I do things.  I remember.

So, my dear, little Ada and my strong, wonderful William.  Happy Birthday.  And here's to many years of many more.  I love you.