I posted the following on Facebook in October. It is part of why I find myself repeatedly lacing up my shoes. I honestly thought things were improving and that I was moving on but a new co-worker is expecting their first next month (and we had a baby shower for them last week) and an issue of “Adoption Month” managed to land in my in-box and my boss pointed out an ad for egg donors and surrogates in the college paper and I find myself raw all over again. It is a process. I will keep
moving running forward.
I need to run.
If my mind is focused on my pace and form, it doesn’t have time to think about how much Little Runner will miss by not being a big brother.
If I’m looking ahead and gauging the hills, I can’t “see” the familial scenes that will never be.
If my lungs are busy keeping up with me, they can’t afford the air to cry.
If I obsess about races and gear and personal bests, I don’t have time to think about temperatures and failed cycles and the garage full of baby gear I can’t sell.
If I run until my body hurts, then the hurt in my heart isn’t as apparent.
My family, rife with “oops babies” and hyper-fertility, can’t understand.
My husband, with his four other children and the shear fact that it isn’t him, can’t understand.
The road can’t understand, either, but it doesn’t need to. It just takes the pounding and the beating and the cursing until I’m okay to head for home and enjoy the child that we have.
I may not have found peace yet but I will keep running until I do.