I often find myself looking back at things I never thought I could ever get through and yet somehow I did. This day 4 really short and long years ago, we lost my Grampy. We were close and I was devastated. As the first days went on, I couldn’t imagine that hole in my heart ever being filled. Now I look back and there is a feeling of missing him, but not the overwhelming sadness there was. I’m also a bit embarrassed to admit that it would have come and gone if timehop hadn’t reminded me of the date.
I can feel a version of it happening with Dad. The first year, the 19th of every month was very acutely painful. I couldn’t pass the day without acknowledging it. Now I can’t remember the last 19th that I felt that way. Maybe his 1st anniversary in December. I mean, I think of him every day, and I usually find myself crying at least a little when I think of every thing I want to tell him, ask him, remind him of, but even losing my Dad isn’t the crushing grief it once was.
And now I’m two weeks out from my third miscarriage, fourth unsuccessful IVF, and am almost 4 years infertile. If I read this story in a book, I would think it a work of fiction that anyone could scrape themselves together and go about life relatively functional. And yet here I am.
The strangest, most remarkable thing about life in times like this is that regardless of everything that happens…
…it just goes on.