Someone asked me recently, when I mentioned we were beginning the process of adoption, if I was "over my grief." I paused. I could feel my face flush. All at once a flood of questions filled my head: have I grieved? Was I done? Did I look sad? Why would she ask that? Can anyone tell I feel really embarassed and confused right now? Her question lingered in the air as everyone sat, staring at me, waiting for me to answer. That day my answer was, "Sure. I mean, I'm fine." Today my answer is, "No. Clearly not."
Our first major set of papers came in the mail yesterday. Apparently the first 10 pages I filled out were only the "inital" application. Now we have the real application and oh, by the way (as if we weren't already sweating how we were going to afford the fees we knew about), with that they'll need more money. I had a meltdown this afternoon trying to fill out just five of the twenty-some pages they sent. On top of feeling like I can't even fulfill my duties as a woman and a wife, now I have to divulge every nook and cranny of my insignificant little life to some stranger who gets to decide whether or not I get to have a child! My entire life has been reduced to how I look on paper!! How much money do I make? (Seriously, we have to write in an autobiographical essay about our annual gross income!) Have I ever sought conseling? Yes. Do I have a mental illness? Yes; but I'm not crazy; I'm actually pretty damn smart, but you wouldn't know that because all you see is this paper! What are my plans for childcare after the child is placed with us? I don't know! I don't currently have children so this is not an issue! Can't we cross that bridge when we come to it? Who the crap knows these answers? It's like I'm back in grad school filling in exam questions where I know if I don't put down exactly the answer my professor would write it'll be incorrect and I'll be screwed! Only in this case, the punishment is not just a bad grade, it's a lifetime of pain, heartache and stumbling through how to respond to the perpetual "So, do you have children?" question. (By the way, this question is no longer a simple question, but now heaps on piles of humiliation and inadequacy.)
It's amazing to me what seemingly insignificant things can set off feelings of grief. Like sitting at the bookstore looking through baby name books and the mom that passes by with her two kids and gives you the "oh-you-must-be-so-excited" look. Actually, no, I'm not. It's totally and completely unfair that most people who get to sit here and browse in the "Parenting" section are already pregnant. Me? I can't become that way, and I have absolutley no freaking clue if I'll ever be a parent because it's not up to me. News stories even trip the grief-trigger. The lastest one out now, and if I hear it again I'll scream, is the one about how feeding babies formula leads to a much higher risk of obesity. Well, guess what? I don't have a choice! It's great that breastmilk is best for babies, I wish I could do that! But I can't. And the Sockmonkeez that are sitting in what will, hopefully(!), be the nursery. I look at them and just think, who am I kidding?
The answer to her question really is, "No." And I don't think I will ever totally be "over the grief." How can you ever truly be "over" grieving the loss of an experience that is so inately part of your being? An experience that (seemingly) every other woman you know gets to experience, but you; how do you get over that? I'm certain only time will tell. For now, I'm not and today has been the greatest evidence of that. Here's hoping the sun shines a little brighter tomorrow.
