Sunday, August 21, 2011


Yesterday Paul and I drove to Westport, Washington, on the Pacific Ocean, to walk around their art festival and check out the beach. It was supposed to be a very hot day at home and we both felt restless, like we needed to be somewhere else. (That's a common feeling in grief, as I understand it.) Westport is very significant in our relationship...Paul has many very fond memories of fishing on big charter boats, most of which still operate today, as a youngster. He usually moors our 25' Bayliner there during the month of August, taking friends and relatives out fishing for salmon and bottom fish (and one tuna trip last year) whenever opportunity presents itself. (This year, he opted to work as much as possible instead, since we were anticipating some financial hardships with the upcoming arrival of the twins. We never could have guessed we'd instead be in mourning during that time instead.)
Paul took me fishing out of Westport on his dad's boat during our first month of dating. I'd never been on the ocean before, let alone on a 17' boat in heavy fog, trying to follow the bright lights of a commercial vessel across the very dangerous Westport bar into open water. It was a huge adventure, and kind of scary, but as we were churning through gigantic waves attempting to keep the rear of his buddy Mike's seasoned boat in view, I had this premonition - "the next time I'm here I'll have a ring on my finger." Two months later we were engaged, and sure enough, the next time I went out fishing, I did indeed have Paul's ring on my finger.

We visited Westport during our first week of mourning. We had no real plan, just needed to get away, out of the house, away from our clouded thoughts. Of course, that didn't really work. Town was a bore, but we made our way to the beach, where I suddenly found myself weeping at the waves. The tears seemed like they'd never stop. We drove south toward Raymond, the very back way home, stopping along the side of the road in view of the ocean as my tears again flowed freely.

Yesterday I was tearless in Westport. Instead I felt like I was looking everywhere for a sign of my babies. I couldn't get them out of my mind (and of course babies and children were everywhere, so that didn't help). (Aside: Paul, who was transfixed by pregnant women during my pregnancy, now obsesses over twins, wondering aloud whether any two children who appear to be related and close in age might be twins. We actually saw a pair of toddler twins on the beach yesterday.) Everything beautiful I saw made my loss more poignant. Paul, and avid rock-hounder, seem obsessed with finding two perfect rocks for our children. (I'm not sure whether he did or didn't...he picked up lots of rocks but I don't know which might be the special ones, and I didn't ask.)

I never used to be a superstitious person, but during our infertility treatments I definitely became one. Yesterday, I had another premonition, just as strong and unshakeable as the ring one I had years ago: we will be back on this beach with our baby in a year. Of course, the premonition was VERY specific as to sex of our child and age range. Paul doubts the sex for some reason and also pointed out my age range couldn't be correct (which is true). However, if we do get pregnant in the next couple of months, then I'll have only been off on the age range but a little bit.

It will be interesting to see what the future holds. I feel very anxious to get started trying again, as does Paul, but we need to wait for nature to restart my cycles and then go in for the procedure with Dr. M. before actually trying again. We both do feel very sure that we will be pregnant again soon. Dealing with those feelings will be a whole other journey.




Of course I would find this, waiting just for me...

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