I had dinner with a dear friend the other night. I met her in New York some sixteen years ago and from the second I met her, I knew that we were going to be friends for life. At least, I hoped so.
She knows me better than most and we've shared a lot over the years. College. Careers. Singlehood. Dating "Mr. Wrongs". Broken hearts. Finding "Mr. Rights". Happiness. Marriage. Children. Family.
Although experienced in different ways, we've both tasted deep and lasting sadness. Me, in losing my Colton. Her, in a child born with a broken heart. Neither have been easy paths and grief has been a process for both of us. Different - yet same.
Wednesday night as we were having our occasional Girls Night Out (which always involves good food and even better conversation) I was struck by a lesson as my friend wiped away tears on my behalf.
The thing I've learned on this painful journey is that healing hurts. A lot. Not a day passes that I am not overwhelmed with the heaviest of grief and sorrow for having lost my precious little boy the way I lost him. As time ticks on and the dream of having another child feels like it is growing more distant on the horizon, sadness festers. I cry on my way to work great buckets of tears as I pass the hospital and remember wanting to die there. I ache in the middle of the night when my husband asks me to hold him after a bad dream because I know what that dream was all about. I hurt even as I genuinely celebrate other people's happy news.
Time will never, in a million year, make that all go away. Infant loss is a painful journey. Infertility deepens it. Yet, as I continue putting one foot in front of the other, I am healing with each passing milestone. I am growing. I am learning. I am moving. Sometimes in inches - sometimes in miles.
But like all deep wounds, healing hurts. A lot.
And that's okay so long as you have really good friends who will jump in the trenches and walk beside you.
1 day ago