The AFA's dear friend Andrea, who wrote about her fledgling pregnancy on this blog page just last month, shared her sad news with us - she lost the pregnancy. Andrea wished to share her heart and feelings with all of you during this difficult time. We are so sad for Andrea and her husband; collectively we wish to send them strength, and love and invite you to do the same.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Since yesterday, I've been thinking a lot about how much love Audrey Hepburn brought into the world, and how she viewed her role as a mother. This poem was read by one of her leading men, Gregory Peck, at her service. It was her favorite poem.
I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times...
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image of what is remembered forever.
You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers,
Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,
the distressful tears of farewell,
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.
Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man's days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours -
And the songs of every poet past and forever.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The flood of tears is stopping. I hope I'm not scaring you with the sadness. Please know, anyone out there, that I appreciate your taking time to read this, and to listen. So many women are going through this journey, and more are finally talking about it. If you know someone dealing with fertility problems, give her extra dollops and scoops of love. Support her and give her the space to talk with you. Anyone who starts cycles of IVF knows it's a roller coaster -- and hopefully well worth it -- but you must be ready for any outcome. Sometimes it's a relatively easy and quick ride, but sometimes it's a long, arduous process. I can say that my husband and I -- though heartbroken -- remain unwavering in our love for each other. Not sure what will crack open from all of this, but I trust that no matter what happens, I will do what I'm supposed to do, and contribute to the world in the best way I can.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
This is what it looks like behind the house we are hopefully buying. It's the spaciousness I crave. It's time to just breathe.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
What a day. It feels like years have passed since last night. Dr. H attributes the pregnancy loss to implantation failure. The embryo was growing, but couldn't quite get a foothold. Why? Don’t know. An undefined something in my uterus may be to blame. Decisions need to be made sometime, but for today, I just let in and accept today's reality. I want to throw my computer out the window, I want to scream and yell, and I want to stare, with inner blindness, at the TV. I want to clean the house and throw shit out. Out with the old. Out with the trials and tribulations, out with the dashed hopes, out with the wishing, the endless endless wishing. In with peace, sweetness, oak trees and sun, Thai coconut soup, a new start, a gentle rub on the head from my loving imperfect great husband. Now don’t get me wrong, as stubborn and tenacious we are, I’m sure we’ll try again. But today our job is to just love each other and get through it as best and balanced as we can.
When I left San Francisco today, I got lost. It’s a drive I’ve done a million times. It is, indeed, a struggle to find my way now. No guideposts or directions or books. I crave openess and lightness; it’s too dark. I need a clearing to find my way.
Understand I did my best. I want that baby-to-be to know I did EVERYTHING I could to keep her warm and safe. They are like little ghosts, each embryo living inside me for too short a time. They find a home for a bit, but don't/can't stay long enough. No heartbeats for this one, no breath of fresh air through her lungs in 7 months.
It seems easy, doesn’t it, to just breathe in an out, right now. But this little being just can’t quite get to that point. I find it very sad. I know this will work out the way it should, with the pieces of our lives falling into place. But for today, I need to just say: it’s sad. Very sad.