Eight Years, Four Years, One Year

Oh July, bringer of hot, lazy days and summer adventures, but with heat comes the danger of being scalded,, seared, or simply consumed in the fire so that nothing is left.

Eight years ago this week, I waited awkwardly in a shopping mall entrance to meet a man for dinner. Shortly after this, I spent a weekend with my mother at our family cottage, and during a canoe outing told her, "I might have met someone. I think I like him."

Four years later, the man from the shopping mall meeting, now my dear husband Gil, said to me, yes, let's have a child. Four years ago today, full of hope, I wrote down that it was finally Cycle Day 1, our first month trying for a child. Filled with hope, I envisioned a winter pregnancy, a spring baby. My imagined spring due date pushed forward to summer, then, autumn, then winter, then spring again.

One year ago tomorrow, I got the call from the clinic. Our cycle had failed. Our last hope. The dream was dead.

I thought that one day it would get easier, that one day I would start waking out without grief or pain. It hasn't. The sharp knife point of grief has dulled slightly, but infertility is still the air that I breath, day in and day out. It envelopes me and consumes me. It is my constant companion. I am infertility and infertility is me. I cannot imagine a life when I will not be aware in every moment that I wanted to be a mother, and I never could.

How do I keep going to face another July, and another? I don't know. I live by putting one foot in front of the other. I enjoy the good moments when they come, and I let myself grieve. I am kind to myself and try to be kind to others. I pray and worship and try to find my way in this dark valley of my faith. I look forward to months that are not July.

Five

Five years ago, I married the love of my life. That sounds so dramatic and picturesque. It WAS a beautiful wedding, but Gil and I were never star-crossed lovers, but rather ordinary people who found each other in an ordinary way. He wasn't my first love, but he was my best love and will (hopefully!) be my last love.

These five years have been quite the journey. Sometimes I find it difficult to mark anniversaries because things turned out so very different from the way that I hoped and planned. There were many days when I thought the infertility struggle would break me forever. There are still long nights when I wonder why it had to be like this, and why my husband stays with me when I am barren, broken, and depressed. I look at the photos from five years ago and tears come to my eyes, not tears of joy, but of sadness for the dark days that were still ahead for starry-eyed 2011 Maggie and Gil.

But...

But...

But our story is not over. Our love is not over. I married to a man who still makes me laugh every day, even on the days when my cheeks feel permanently streaked with tears. I married a man who tells me he would do it all again, even knowing how dark the nights would be, and how much of me would be lost in the journey. When I met Gil more than seven years ago, and even when I married him five years ago, I didn't yet know that I was marrying the best man there is, one who has integrity and tenacity and pluck in spades. Because of who he is, and because of who our God is, I have faith that one day the sun will shine a little brighter, and the tears will flow less frequently, and we will find out who we are in this new state of being permanently childless. There are still hard days ahead, but today I will celebrate with my best friend.

Happy anniversary, my dearest love and my dearest friend.

Not Today

In mid-July of 2013, Gill and I started our journey to become parents. Without going into too much unnecessary detail, today it became clear that two years have gone by without a pregnancy. I have a myriad of thoughts about this depressing anniversary, which I'll be sharing later on when I've processed things a little more, but today, I am sad. Today, I am grieving. Today, I will let myself feel the heartache that is overwhelming, in hopes that tomorrow I can find that sliver of hope to keep going. If you happen to know me in 'real life', I could use a hug.

Three Years (and Counting)!

On July 17, 2009, I met the love of my life for the first time. We had been emailing and then phoning back and forth for almost two months, and finally agreed to meet for dinner after work on the seventeenth.

While I love my husband now, I'd be lying if I said it was love at first sight. In fact, it was more like annoyance at first sight because we got our wires crossed and were waiting at two different locations, so by the time we actually met, I was trying not to get mad at him already! For the first few weeks of dating, I was not sure whether we were a good match or not. I think I had seen too many chick flicks and was disappointed at the lack of “butterflies”. In fact, I was so nervous that a few times I went on unnecessary rants about controversial issues, and was astonished that Gil kept putting up with me!

After those first few weeks, though, I noticed one crucial thing: Every time I met Gil, I liked him a little bit more. That gave me the confidence to keep opening up to him, and the rest is history, as they say.

Soooo, here's to the heart doctor who won my heart! I'm so glad God brought us together, and look forward to many more years ahead.