Angie over at Still Life With Circles started an annual blog project called Right Where I Am last year, and I thought I'd participate. The point is to write about how you are as a babyloss mama in grief today, not yesterday, not tomorrow, but right now.
Right now, I'm physically sore and exhausted after Paul and I finally rallied and got started on a big project we've had planned since before we conceived the twins: the creation of a new raised garden bed area. The project has turned out to be much more involved and difficult, physically (for me, at least) than expected...although the fact that I busted my ass this morning with my 8-year old push mower, trying to tame our front lawn (if you can call it that) and flower beds (no kidding, I mowed my flower bed, that's how country I am) hasn't helped anything. I have a blister, sore feet and sore muscles to show for it...and a sense of starting something, accomplishing a part of something, a feat neither of us has been able to pull off since we lost Aliya and Bennett last summer. We've been stuck in this grief- and depression-induced inertia, with the best of intentions, of course, but no energy or motivation to actually get started. On anything.
So, this is something we started, and can finish, hopefully this weekend. That's huge. And when we're done? Ah...yes, more time to grieve. More time to question and ponder. We're probably staying busy today to try and blot out the bad feelings we earned yesterday at our big IVF clinic consultation. Suffice it to say, it did not go well, more because of the vibes we got than anything. I'll write more about that in a later post.
As far as grieving today, though, I'm in a very ok place, and I hope that Paul is, too. We've had some laughs, got really, really dirty (aside: don't make fun of your hubby's dirt half-mustache when you aren't aware you have a giant dirt smudge on your cheek yourself, smarty pants!). He's still outside, trying to tame our massively overgrown backyard, so tall in spots that the dog seriously doesn't have to hardly squat to pee! It's really that bad. (I think he might have mowed the patio, too. It would figure.)
That's where we are...living, or trying to, grieving in spurts, trying to get a fire lit under our feet so we can get something done. We're not supposed to write about how we were feeling before, but you know if you read this post. I'm much, much better now. My counselor pointed out, as I noted how deep my low trough was compared to where I emerged late last week and still remain, that while anti-depressants are certainly a tool we can look into if I need it, "Really, it's just grief, sweetie...it's all just grief."
(I just looked outside to find my husband mowing the patio, as expected. As I watched, he ran over the dog's Nylabone and shot the thing in three pieces three different directions. One piece actually landed in our new garden, many, many feet away (like 40+). Progress, not perfection!)