Infinite Acceptance

Life never goes in a straight line.  What is “supposed” to happen and what actually occurs very wildly.  I was “supposed” to bring my sweet baby girl home, healthy and screaming, and raise her to the best of my ability.  But life betrayed me.

I was “supposed” to become a famous writer before I hit 30, not be stuck in a dead end horrible job.  I was “supposed” to marry out of love the first time, not necessity.  I was “supposed” to graduate with a bachelors at 22, instead of fighting for an associates at 31.

I put a lot of time constraints on myself, and judge my success or failures by them.  So many regrets.  I know I shouldn’t, because then I wouldn’t be where I am today, but so many things I would have done differently.  And I can’t now and it’s harder and I don’t know how to live with that.  I wanted to have my baby girl and then be done having children.  Now I’m desperate to have another, yes, in part to replace not her, but the love that was lost.  Now I’ll be pushing 35.  Now it’s getting scary.

The hardest obstacle in all of this is acceptance.  Acceptance that she’s gone  - that no matter how often I gaze at her picture, where she looks like she’s sleeping peacefully, I will never get to go home to her.  Acceptance that most people who know avoid eye contact, talk about me in hushed tones, or worse, don’t talk about me at all because it’s a non-thing to them, it has no effect.  I have to accept the entire time I carried her, and all my wasted plans, all the seemingly wasted effort and my wasted body.  I have to accept all the pain and anguish and horrible truth of this situation, with no answers.  I have to accept that I have to accept that.  And most times I feel like I can’t.

Nothing throws your world out of sync like sudden loss.  It’s the freezing smack in the face of ice water when you’re already cold – not cool and refreshing, but shocking and painful.  It throws everything into doubt – my future, my work, my relationships, my family.  Everything becomes suspect, when’s it going to leave me?  When will it end?  And then I spend so much time worrying about when it’s all going to fall apart that I don’t appreciate it while it’s here.

It’s the unknown that terrifies me.  Rational fear, but this is paralyzing.  I don’t know what to do with my life – what to study, what field to work in, what to prepare for, what to let go.  Where should Parker go to school?  Should we have another baby?  Will I be able to adapt?  I have before, but I lack the mental fortitude anymore to move forward confidently.  Every step is doubted, every action second guessed.  Will I regret this?  Will it be worse instead of better?  Will it change everything even more?