this grey cloud called life

The reality of the last few days have come crashing down and like a wave, it just rolled me over and I KO’d.. literally.  Just woke up from a much needed nap and although it wasn’t as refreshing as I hoped, it was very much needed.  

Starting with the elections- I know this year’s elections meant a great deal to everyone.  But it meant for us, was it was the end of 4 years that started with my stay in the hospital.  During the last elections, I was hospitalized a few days before due to pprom - all the doctors agreed that I was not going anywhere until the baby (Noah) was ready to be born.  I clearly remember getting a text from C telling me not to turn on the news channel as she was afraid I would go into early labor.  Little did we know that would be beginning of what became a very long four years.  4 years of soul searching and finding meaning in everything.  Learning to take things for what they were, and accept the unexpected.  If you recall, during that time, we also decided to adopt and share the journey with all.  So as you can imagine, when we woke on Saturday morning (Friday night for you all) that not only had Biden been elected, but that we had also elected the FIRST MADAM VICE PRESIDENT.  How huge is this moment?  That in our lifetime, we get to not only have seen and witness the first Black president, but also now the first MADAM VICE PRESIDENT.  (I can’t get over that title.). The best quote I read in the last few days goes as such, “Ladies put on your shoes- there’s glass everywhere.”  I don’t know who said it but man it gives me chills.  

So Biden/Harris 2020!  But it meant our four years of finding truth of who we are and what we want, came to end.  And do you know the significance of that as we sit in the other side of the world, in SK?  That we’re not here just because we wanted to be but we are here to ultimately bring home our boy.  If you don’t get how big of a life moment this is, that’s fine.  Because the significance is for me to take in and process.  

Then it’s also #worldadoptionday.  Ha.. it’s like a bit cosmic joke huh?  Because tomorrow, 11-12, is Noah’s 4th birthday.  He would’ve been four.  It’s so interesting to know that there are some cosmic jokes that can never be understood except to me.  Everyone has their own cosmic joke to process and it seems like this is mine.  It’s not necessarily funny but it has it’s moments.  And if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I would’ve taken life any other way.  No silver platter for me - it seems I have to work for all this (ironically for someone who just started working in real life- har har).  

Quarantine has been interesting- it’s like a forced vacation but without the capability of going anywhere since you’re technically not supposed to be around people, let alone be outside of your home/room.  We’ve been extremely fortunate to be able to quarantine here at my aunt’s and minus the giant pteryldactyl bugs, it’s been very peaceful and my aunt has been the very accommodating hostess.  

Life in the country is as anticipated, much slower than the city and less chaotic. The sights and sounds drift away as the day comes to a close and the loudest thing being Tommy’s snore or the neighbor’s chicken Bob who roosts all day long. (Roosts?  crows?  what’s the right term for that?)

It’s been a tough goings for the year 2020.  Lives lost, families torn and sides pitted against each other.  But history can be changed when challenged to your core beliefs.  The pandemic brought new meaning to “safe at home” when with the uncertainty of the virus, would have us staying at home and away from others as much as possible.  We were wiping down surfaces, hoarding toilet paper and disinfectant wipes, and flour and yeast as well.  Even now we’re running for wipes if we see them and it becomes crazy when there isn’t enough.  

As the pandemic was in the process of trying to curve out (flatten?), tragedy struck that lit a fuse.  The fuse burned it’s way to a social atomic bomb that now discuses the sanctity of human life and who we are.  It asks of us to rethink the way we thought things were, to challenge ourselves to re-learn what we thought was right and to advocate for those can’t fight for themselves.  It implores us to see just how far the roots of racism goes and that when people are no longer seen equal to each other, it means that race continues to be the reasoning.  People angrily protest the sanctity of life that Black Lives Matter, but are met with people assuming that just because they push for Black Lives to matter, that all lives don’t.  Oddly though the people who scream that All Lives Matter, don’t realize that all lives can’t, until Black Lives Matter.  A bit of an oxymoron eh?  Maybe oxymoron isn’t the right term, but you know what I mean.  You can’t indicate that all lives matter when all lives do not.  You are still saying that as long as YOU remain comfortable and can continue with your privilege and entitlement to not be a part of the situation, to stay outside of it, that in itself is the entitlement!  That’s the privilege that not everyone can be a part of.  

If this blog has made you uncomfortable and you wonder if I’m becoming a part of the “movement”, then damn straight I am.  Feel free to show yourself out the door.  I don’t mean to be rude, but now’s the time to have the uncomfortable conversations and make changes.  If you feel like you don’t have to change anything and everything is fine, that’s ok.  But do realize that it may mean we will be uncomfortable with each other while things are being figured out.  We will walk different paths and though they may intersect at times and even flow the same way, it won’t be the same again.  

Hello world of blogging!  It’s been some time, I believe over a year since my last post.  In the last year, T and I have signed the official adoption contract with the agency, thus stating that they would be our agency.  Also we must’ve taken down a whole forest of trees just to print out the number of forms and applications necessary.  Yikes.  Sorry Earth.  :(   but it was necessary as they required so many forms.  Not just the agency, but the different departments that are involved with ensuring the safety and travel procedures, but also taking all the necessary steps to make sure everything is a-okay.

It seems we’ve also just sent a few more bits of information and then, and THEN... our file gets sent to our country of choice!

GAHHHH.

Yes I freak out a bit, when things like this are happening.  But at the same time, it’s not like anyone else really cares or would care as much.  It’s a bit like other aspects of your life.  When something good happens, big or small, not many would care as much as you would.  It’s like unless there is something big that affects other people’s lives, then no one cares as much.  And oddly somehow its like when something bad happens, EVERYONE wants to know!  Why is that the case?  Why must we be so nosey about other peoples’ bad news?  I’m pretty guilty of that.  But what is it?  Why can’t we just be happy at other people’s happy news?  What must we do to just accept good news all around?  Why are we drawn toward the bad?  The unknown?

It's official. Like really official. We signed the contractual agreement, cut a check, and mailed them to the agency. It's like really official now. Won't lie. Since the holidays, there's been a turmoil of emotions. Is it right? Am i meant to have kids? What if I'm a bad mom? Ugh. Hopefully as the process continues, I find confidence in myself and the paperwork becomes easier... nope. Health paperwork, financial, home safety, background checks, home study. Whoa.

Stood in line at Starbucks for coffee and I observed the many parents and children in line to take a photo with Santa. Big kids, small kids, newborns, even grown adult kids. All wanted a photo with Santa and pay the ridiculous amount for photos. It did occur to me though that grief will never make the holidays easy. I should be in the ridiculous line waiting with an impatient husband because my son should be taking a photo with Santa. My daughter should also be holding her brother's hand as they walk towards the man in the red suit. And I should be happily carrying my third child. Instead, I stand by T in line, waiting for my coffee.

There's a list they ask you to fill out, starting with the history of the child. You only get to answer on 3 ways, "yes we have practice dealing with this", "will consider", and "will not consider". The list isn't everything, but it's a long list of almost 4 pages with almost every single ailment, medical and behavioral need science has identified up to thus. It took more out of me than I realized. Each item that T and I answered "will not consider", meant a possible child not finding their family. We've just barely scratched the surface and with each line my heart broke.

To know that there are children who were cast aside because of one (or many) of these lines. Why? I don't know the reasons for these birth parents to give up their child, but how do you cast them aside? Hoping someone else will pick up the broken children and care for them? It's like a twisted gift list. What you say no to, means a child is left in the dark.

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

        And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,

        And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

        Some days must be dark and dreary.

I’ve looked death in the face.  It was the face of my son, as he took his last breath in my arms.  He looked peaceful, although I can’t imagine what he felt.  Oddly that wasn’t the first time I met death.  The first time was eight years before that.  When my grandmother passed away, I remember getting the phone call.  I had just left work.  I hadn’t seen her in several weeks, feeling like a bad granddaughter.  I won’t lie though, each time I went to visit, it was harder to leave.  Because I knew every time I left, I would be coming back as a stranger.  With each visit, it was like starting all over again, having to remind her that i’m not my mom, my cousin, or my aunt.  That I am Jessie, her granddaughter from her 5th child.  That I am not in college any more, and I’ve been working for a few years now.  That I am not married, nor do I have any children of my own.  It was rare, but I think there was a moment when she remembered me.  As I was.  

By the time I saw her again, it was at her funeral.  The funeral home has a way of making them look peaceful.  Must be the makeup.  I’m glad though that my Noah wasn’t alone when he saw Jesus.  I’m grateful that when he opened his eyes, and saw the face of Jesus shining down him, that my grandmother was there to see her great grandson.  

For awhile there, and every so often, the thought of death becoming familiar in my life again, is all too real.  It’s just that you assume that all will be taken away from you.  I guess that’s why when it comes to how you live your life and view the issues, you try not to care so much.  You try to just live, and take it for what it’s worth.  And in that way, you don’t fear death.  You realize that everyone dies and things.  People forget and move on.  The world continues to surge forward and you can either be left standing in it’s wake, or you pick up your skirts and sway with the world.

Have you ever had the feeling, the moment of thought when people talk to you, and all you can do is nod and try to look like you’re paying attention?  The conversation is playing out like an old black and white, and you’re doing your best to keep steady with the dialogue, but all you can do is just sit and stare.  Like the way you would stare at the clouds, given the chance to just lay back and focus on the sky.

“Adenomyosis”, “Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome”, and a few others, which didn’t shock at me any more than the first two.  I don’t know what to make of it.  What does it mean?  I don’t know, and the thought that we’d have to go back and get more blood drawn.  At this point, there should just be a permanent line from my vein, with a tap at the end.  

Two years ago around this time, I managed to get up way way before the sun and ambled around DC as those close to me were running 13 some odd miles.  Why you would pay to run with thousands of others, is beyond me.  But it was amusing to watch as it would take me almost 45min to an hour to just walk to the halfway point of this race.  Took me so long because I was waddling like a duck and had to stop to pee every 10min or so.  Speaking of which, there is a decently clean bathroom along the Reflecting Pool in DC, along the right side if you’re walking towards the Lincoln Memorial from the Monument.  

I remember waddling around, eating my 3rd breakfast burrito from McDs, and thinking how it would be in the coming spring, welcoming a third being into our house.  I had no idea that within the following month, I’d be feeling otherwise.

If I can’t be honest here, then what was it all for?  With that being said, I’ll record it here from the semi-beginning.

2013- Miscarriage at 11.5 weeks after a surprise and rough (like -10lbs from not eating).  This was probably the most traumatic in the sense that I literally passed the baby at home with my own hands.  I’m not trying to be sensational about it, but it’s the truth.  Followed by a long and difficult visit at the doctor’s office, I remember eventually passing out from grief in the late hours of the day.  T made all the calls to the family and told everyone to give us space.  Space which turned into about 3 years.

2016- Noah Kunwoo was born on 11/12/16, just shy of 23 weeks.  He passed away a few hours later, too little to take his first breath without the help of oxygen.  He was too little that his eyes didn’t even open, yet I knew if i could see his eyes now, they may have kept me from letting go when I needed to.  We proceeded with cremation as that meant there was no place for me to lay my head down next to his, hoping for death.  It seems that with each instance of grief, it strikes harder than the last and there is no way of avoiding it.  Again when asked for space, some respected it like the law.  Others came barging through, and it turns out not all help is asked for, but always needed.  I have yet to see a professional (see the end of last post) but being “fine” has been my motto.  I don’t mean in a cool, sauve fine.  I mean, “freaked out insecure, neurotic, and emotional”, as defined by a movie. 

2018- Miscarriage at maybe 6 weeks?  But its not certain how far along I even was.  Regardless, little Blueberry was loved from before and during their short phase with us.  The doctor called it a “chemical pregnancy” which ultimately throws it into the category that life may not have been present.  But I don’t believe that to be true.  With the amount of hope (borderline desperation), I believe little Blueberry was alive.  Just not long enough for me to hear heartbeat or see a picture.

And that brings us to now, September.  T and I went to a new doctor and from the get go, he had a plan laid out for us, which started with bloodwork and an ultrasound for me.  However, upon closer inspection, indicated that there was a part of my body that ultimately may prevent any successful pregnancies, as that part is not “normal”.  It’s shorter than normal, making it much more difficult to have a successful implantation, which would result in 40 or so weeks of growing a human being.  I’ll need a proactive surgery early at 14 weeks, which may or may not help as it would already be risky.  Doctor K also started me on progesterone.  Damn pills are horse pills, huge in size and difficult to swallow.  (Is that what she said??  -- actually yes it is what I said).

Nine.

I never imagined the day would breeze by without a thought, filled with silliness and laughter.  How could it?

Eight.

The moon was bright and shone like a lamp hanging in the sky.  Each time the full moon rises, I imagine you laying in the sweet arms of the Saviour being rocked gently to sleep.

Seven.

More than halfway to your anniversary.

Six.

Halfway gone, halfway coming.

Five. 

Fresh cuts dig deeper than ever imagined.  Did it really hurt worse in the beginning?

Four.

Looking for comfort for someone who is long gone and never returning.

Three.

It was the first time I smiled.  The first time i laughed.

Two.

Fear traps me at every turn and I am left to just wallow in grief.  Letting the waves drown me.

One.

When grief visits, it’s unexpected.  There is never a warning of when or how it will happen.  But I think there’s a reason for it.  I’m starting to think that grief happens when it does, because at that moment, there is something the universe wants you to see.  There’s a song they want you to hear, a sight to see, a moment to remember, and a heart to cherish.  Triggers can happen, and there is no way to avoid those completely.  The only way to do that, would be stop living.  It would mean leaving the life you knew, the people who love you, and the things of the past that make you who you are.  You would become a shadow, no longer trying to see what’s beyond the door.  Life would cease to exist for you.  Your heart freezes and the colors mute and fade.  You don’t feel the warmth of the sun on your face, the reminders of his small hand in your’s, the hope that comes when you know this life on earth is not the end.  Grief reminds you of the tragedies, yes but it becomes the reason you cherish each sunset, each warm breeze, and every tear that falls.