Yesterday was an odd day. The sadness of not being a dad hung over me as it had for the past week. My trepidation had been building for a while. I remember my comment of ‘only two miscarriages’, after seeing another ‘happy ending baby story’ during the week, as I recalled all our losses and pulled back my tears. Every miscarriage is a tragedy, so I am not minimising their heart-breaking losses, but I would like the world to know many of us suffer these heart-wrenching losses and don’t get our miracle baby. Instead, we remain invisible.
The sadness of not having children was within us both as we navigated an attempt at a 'normal day' - attending a foraging workshop (booked a while back without realising what day it was going to be on). I was aware we were only there due to not having children. That was tough. The workshop provided us with a focus, but I was also nervous regarding potential pronatal prattle and triggers. It turned out ok, though with a couple of bingos. I was present, but I also felt numb and avoidant at times - food and a beer only provided cold comfort.
The hangover of difficult emotions lingers as I attempt another 'normal day' today. The thing is, being childless means my normal days aren't the social norm, instead they are littered with hauntings, triggers, and attempts to process the trauma and create a fulfilling life. It is exhausting at times. Too many times. Yesterday wasn't just a day, it is part of an endless stretch of time with no beginning or end. A stretch of time twisted by loss, grief, and healing. No different to anyone perhaps, for we are all human, apart from being childlessness is lived in the shadows. We are unseen and being invisible isolates us. Yesterday showed me that - our grief is disenfranchised - society doesn’t witness our pain as we attempt to live without our heart’s desire. However, yesterday also showed me whilst I was hurting, I wasn't laid as low as in the past. As difficult as it is to grieve losses unrecognised by family, friends, society, it is a difficult process worth preserving with. I continue to create a life, my life. I have to remember I exist, even if I remain invisible to so many. I say this out loud as I need to hear it.
One of the aspects I lost during the height of my grief and still prevails is enjoying the moment and capturing what is beautiful and interesting to me. In all the confused and complicated emotions of yesterday I noticed this dandelion a few times and on our final pass I stopped to photograph it. For me, there is the sense that it was on the cusp of change. Another day it would be gone. As will I and it reminds me of why do I too often feel I am waiting to start living (again)? When I have always been alive, if on a childless pathway I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Grief plays many tricks.