With life up in the air...

On Friday, I ran into a friend at Wal-Mart. As we were catching up, she mentioned that I hadn’t blogged in a while and that she enjoys reading what I have to say. So…here it is. There have been numerous thoughts and feelings over the past few weeks, but having to relive those feelings so I can put them into words is difficult, yet comforting.

On Friday, June 13, my mother-in-law passed away. While overhearing the telephone conversation between my husband and his father, confirming the passing of Julie, I had a deep ache for her loss, yet a thrilled realization to know that she was with my children. I knew it. She was hugging them, talking to them, and teaching them, all looking at Coulton and me as we cried over her death. My children are her grandchildren, and she loves them. I am so grateful for her life, for her giving life to my husband. I am also grateful for her life on the other side of the veil. For now, she will be their guardian.

Life and death are such interesting things. My husband and I are doing everything we can to bring life to this earth, and everyone else was trying to keep Julie’s life on earth. It’s like we don’t want anyone to be in heaven; we want them all here. I think that’s because this life is all we know and have. Yes, I believe in the premortal life, in life after death, and that we’ll live forever with our families. But the only life my physical body and mind can comprehend and remember is this life, a life where I don’t have children yet, a life where loved ones are dying- this is what makes it so painful for me.

A couple of months ago, my mom sent me a baby doll. She told me that when she was first married, when she longed for a child, would hold this doll and it would bring her comfort. She gave her to me in hopes that she would bring me that same comfort.  She wears a long white dress, has yarn hair, painted eyes, and sewn on fingers. Just the other day, as I walked into our spare bedroom to clean it and saw her lying in my rocking chair, I put aside any logic, and held her. I stroked her yarn hair, looked into her painted eyes, and held her sewn on fingers. It felt so good to just hold something in my arms. Guess my mom was right.

My doctor said that we could try one more step before surgery, a procedure called an IUI- Intrauterine insemination. They take a sperm sample from my husband and inject it directly into my uterus, making the swim shorter and easier for the sperm. So, when the ovulation test came back positive last Monday, we went to the doctor to do the procedure. Before the injection, the nurse had us look at a small sample of the sperm under a microscope. It was truly the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen- so many little sperm, my dear husband’s sperm, swimming around, desperately and frantically trying to find my egg. I’ve seen plenty of sperm because of a pregnancy class and TLC birth stories, but never my husband’s, never the little guys who could potentially become my sweet babies. So miraculous.

My family was aware that I was doing this procedure. Later that day, I was talking to my youngest sister and the first thing she said was “So, are you pregnant?!” It was so sincere and sweet. I explained to her that I would have to wait until I missed my next period to know, that it wasn’t instant. I can’t wait for the day to tell her that she’ll have a new little niece or nephew.

Now that I’ve waited until I started my period, I can tell her that no, I am not pregnant. This really is a roller coaster ride. Going up- taking Clomid to help me ovulate, having the IUI procedure done, having a blood test done to see if I actually ovulated, waiting for the nurse to call to tell me the blood test results, missing her call and getting off work too late to call them back and find out, then hoping but trying not to get my hopes up, praying, wishing, waiting. Then going down-starting my period. That’s really all there is to going down, but it’s always a steep, fast drop. Then, ever so slowly, back up.

Through all of this, I have grown closer and closer to my husband. He has learned how to comfort me, what to say, what to do. Friday morning, as I crawled back into bed after using the restroom, he scooted close to me and asked “Did you start?” When I told him yes, he put his arm around me and let out a sigh that told me he was just as disappointed and sad as I was. He’s on the roller coaster ride too.

“With life up in the air, my faith has learned to fly. I know whose hands are covering my eyes.” –Cheri Magill