The Hardest Part, part 2

I committed to the journaling exercise so I’m all in for the next 20 minutes, despite the fact part 1 made me cry for the whole 20 minutes, the rest of class, the whole drive home, and until it was bedtime. It was totally unexpected. I didn’t realize I was still harboring that much hurt. I want to say that being incredibly overtired was a major factor but I think it’s really the hurt. 

The hardest part, the feeling of the failure, sucks. Maybe I need to spend some time reframing this failure because the “I’m a failure/No you’re not” is only ever going to run me around in circles. 

Failure or not, my children will have no tangible meaning for Grandfather, Grandpa, Grampy. It will be just be another far away concept to them, like the pyramids. Maybe someday they’ll actually see and or touch a pyramid. Who knows, but I doubt I will so it will remain as something I know exists because of pictures and stories. Nothing more. They won’t know my Dad’s silly faces, or Hubby’s Dad’s accent or odd expressions. No matter what we tell them, they will never know them the way their cousins did. And it breaks my heart. I wish I could have had both of them a little longer, even until we lost Blastkap2, just to have been able to tell them and hear their response. My Dad was atypical in terms of engagement. He wanted to know everything when we found out causes. He wanted to know about testing. He sat with me and talked through everything. I remember my nieces on his knee, all at around 6 months old, and seeing that incredible bond, and it hurts that my children will never know it. 

Failure or not, the hardest part is that this, and they were taken from us and it will never be fair. 


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