I'm working on an unpublished post. It's is a collection of those pre-twin writings I've come across recently.
I've always been a writer, journaling for as long as I can remember. I have journals tucked away in a beat up old box in the basement. I've dragged that box around for years before it was tossed on the top shelf in the basement. It has seen apartment after apartment. (For a while there I moved around quite a bit, but the books were the story of my life, they went where I went. They are filled with elementary school silliness, middle school crushes, junior high torment, high school awkwardness, and college where I found my 'beginning'.
I have found notes, journal pages, and other pieces of paper with random emotions bled onto them, some even on the back of the infertility specialists appointment card. They are tucked into my jewelery box, the bottom of the hope chest, and the twins keepsake boxes. That is where I found my calendars. Day by day chronicles, chicken scratched with appointments, schedules, medication regiments, and the heartbreaking scribble on each month of the dreaded words: DAY 1.
Some of the pieces of paper are hard to read, they bring back terrible feelings of longing, desperation and frustration. Others expose the sadness I felt in acceptance. Accepting that my belly would forever be empty but my heart was full, bursting with love it had to give to 'someone'.
I think back to that time and everyone said 'it will happen'. Yes, it did, thank you all for confidence when mine was failing. My heart was so terribly broken, there were no words of encouragement that could mend it. After all this time, it's still healing. My girls, all three, help it mend a bit each day.
My girls are3 and 4, and I still struggle with some of those feelings when I hear of someone else going through the same pain.
It's an unpublished post, but those are the waters currently flowing though the Fisch Tank.
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