I've found lately that I don't enjoy the things I used to. I feel like maybe I'm this new and different person, but a part of me still longs for those parts of the old me. I used to read. All. The. Time. I would read book after book and find it impossible to stop. Now, it's like pulling teeth. Only recently have I picked up a book and really gotten into it...let myself go somewhere in my own thoughts...in the words of the text. It's hard because for the longest time my mind would wander. I couldn't keep reading. I was reading non-fiction...self-help and adoption books...because that's all that I could read in short bursts.
For the first time today, I kept the tv off and I just read. I read almost 100 pages. And it felt good. It felt like I was bringing back a piece of me. I actually enjoyed it...and I got lost. I pictured the scenes again. I read like I used to. And I felt like the old me.
I've noticed the same has gone for my photography...my genealogy research...and my crocheting. I have let those all go, too. I rarely pick up my camera anymore. I used to love capturing moments. I even used to love having pictures taken of myself from time to time. To capture that memory. Now, the idea of a photo is a reminder that that is the only tangible evidence of my boys and it's hard to pick up a camera and know that the last time I was capturing moments, it was of my boys' lives. I don't know how better to explain that. But because of how important those photos I took of Sammy and Andy are, I know that I have to pick up my camera again. I have to start practicing. Because it is so imperative that I work on a portfolio so I can do Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep photos. I need to. Because to someone else, those photos would be it, too. The only memories. Soon. Soon I think I can do it. Maybe.
My genealogy research is another one of those reminders. There are links in my history to lost babies, too. Babies that survived only a few moments and babies that survived a few weeks. I know I'm not the only one. But studying that about my family brings it into perspective. And it also makes me think and wonder what happened to those babies. Back then it wasn't talked about. It wasn't discussed why a baby died. He or she was silently laid to rest and his/her life was recorded in the family bible or record and never spoken of again. I want to know. And I think that's why I've shied from that, too.
And then there's my crocheting...for me that was my therapy for those months I was home after everything happened. And now I find it hard to pick it back up. I justify it by saying that I should be cleaning my house, doing laundry, taking care of other things instead. But, to be honest, I don't do those things either. Sometimes I seriously just sit and stare at the television. I don't know why and I can't explain it. I wish I could. I really want to do it and I tell myself I will, but then I don't. I guess I can say that about my photos, about my genealogy research, and about reading, too. But at the same time, I explained those away above and for my crocheting...I can't explain that away.
I guess a part of me is still wishing I could have the old me back. A part of me is always wishing we were still dealing with the infertility instead of the grief of losing the boys. But then I know that I wouldn't be me. I wouldn't have become who I am. I wouldn't have the same things to live for. And I wouldn't know what really matters in life. Never do I wish their lives away, but I wish for me to be me. To not be missing them. To still get to be naive and free. Instead, I feel like I'm this reminder to myself and others of the mortality of life. That there isn't always a happily ever after. I know people shy away from me because of it and it's teaching me who is really my friend and who isn't. And it's the friends who can forgive me for my moments of brashness and utter honesty that I will hold close. The others, I need to learn to let go. And I guess I need to learn to let go of the old me and embrace the new me, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment