As I crawled in bed late last night Dave, who was already in bed, said, “I read what you posted. Wow! That was a lot. That was really good. You are a good writer.”
Thinking he was talking about the post I had just written on Overweight Women, confused and perplexed I said, “Well, thanks, um, didn’t you edit that post earlier?”
“No. The one you posted on Facebook.” He responded.
“Oh. My Fix-You Post.” I said and because I was tired and caught of guard by his thoughtful comment, I mean, (I don’t think Dave would feel especially compassionate about the overweight woman who was smoking while carrying her catheter bag into her dialysis appointment), I continued, “I am working on my archives. That was one of the last posts I wrote before I quit blogging and it was one of the first posts I was able to recover from the sever-back-up Vortex. It was always a favorite. I didn’t read it today. It is too sad.”
I turned over, smiled and was grateful that he had read it. Dave’s feedback meant more to me than almost any other feedback I have ever been given. Go Dave!
The “Fix-You” Post was so sad because I was so sad and right after that I quit blogging. I quit blogging because my heart was broken and I spent the next five years trying to put my heart and the rest of me back together. It was more than blogging. I stopped and changed everything. I put my two feet on the ground and pointed them forward.
It is estimated that since Eli was born (he is 10) that I have had at least twenty miscarriages (I stopped counting). I could have chosen to adopt. I could have talked Dave into using a surrogate (probably not) and even now that I am much older, every single month I still ask myself, “What if I am pregnant?” It never leaves. It just does not and so it is what it is. What I want you to know is that I use my pain to see opportunity. My heartache has morphed into gratitude and my lack of control has taught me to let go. And yes, getting here has been anything, but easy.
Opportunity is what it was and opportunity is how I spin things now. The one opportunity I did walk away from was my daily interaction with wonderful people who came to Crazyus.com. Without a word or an explanation, I unplugged and I walked away. Bloggers and readers alike were always kind and good to me and believe me, when I left, I missed all of them. As I sit here and type I know that I would be over the moon if I ever could have that same internet connection again (get the play on words . . . internet & connection . . . he he he). Seriously, it would be beyond my dreams!
The opportunities I did have way back in August 2006 were my late miscarriage and imminent mental crash. It was time for me to accept the fact (or at least start accepting) that I may never give birth again and this was a not-exactly-how-I-had-envisioned-my-life opportunity to stretch.
Here is how it went. We sold our house. We moved into a tiny tiny condo in Park City, UT. Dave would go to our land, work on our new house everyday, Kyle would go to school and Eli would go to pre-school. I, well, I would sit home and sleep or play Peggle. I spent hours and hours every single day playing Peggle. I played Peggle so much that I finally confessed my Peggle Addiction to Dave. He already knew. He mentioned an article he had read about combat soldiers who play Tetris. “They play it to help with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” That was all I needed to hear and I kept on playing. I played Peggle for months and months and months. I loved my high scores I loved watching where the orange ball would go.
Eventually and still in my Peggle fog, we pulled Kyle out of first grade because he was so far ahead. He had gone to an accelerated kindergarten the year before and in October when the Principal at his new school told me it was fine for Kyle to “hang out” until the end of the school year (doing absolutely nothing, except getting in trouble), Dave and I knew something needed to be done. Because I was on Peggle-Auto-Pilot Dave took the lead and found a Homeschooling group (I was not about to Homeschool), which led him to this Hippie Montessori School. Dave went over to the school and loved it. I resisted for a few weeks until he finally dragged me over to check things out. Miss Diane, the long haired sixty-five year old director was wearing leggings, Uggs and a denim shirt. The school is in a house-slash-barn and I saw lots of feathers, Indian gear and Dreamcatchers. Because nothing is ever completely ideal, the school would end up being this crazy, dysfunctional, magical-talking-stick-duct-taped together Fairyland, but in that moment Miss Diane grabbed my sad sad face, kissed it, then looked me right in the eyes and said, “You will love it here. I know you will.” She hugged me and welcomed me into her crazy-Hippie-Montessori-Planet. As confused as I felt, I knew and to this day know, that Miss Diane loves and accepts me, crazy parts and all. We paid our overpriced deposit, filled out our paperwork and signed Kyle up.
In late 2006 Diane and the Another Way Montessori School Community was everything this Adams Family needed to heal our broken hearts. No one knew anything about us. We had a clean slate and I loved it. We were simply the weird family, who was building a house up the street. And really at Another Way, everyone is a little weird and outside-of-the-box. Because of this we all fit into this little Park City Island of Misfit Toys. I loved it! I loved getting caught up in fundraising. I loved learning about Yellowhawk, the Indian. I loved that Sausha’s dad is Bart The Bear’s Trainer. I did not love that the dog-wolf hybrids came to the school, but my kids did. I loved learning about the Talking Stick and I loved that Another Way was NOT Peanut Free. I sent my kids with their Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches to school and I loved that I could.
Miss Diane is a world renowned ski instructor and we love that she taught our boys to parallel ski. No snow plowing allowed. I love that the boys learned to ride and groom a horse and I loved that the horses were at the school. It was not very long after we signed Kyle up that Miss Diane convinced us that Eli needed to be there too. It was easy. It was safe. If I needed time to breathe, the boys could stay late. As Dave and I continued to do infertility treatments I always knew we could leave the boys with Diane. I really believe we found our very own Modern Day Hippie Commune. It was disorganized, unpredictable and I loved it. The friends I made there are friends I will have for life.
As I was talking to one of those friends earlier today I was mentioning how our choices take us to where we need to be. I mentioned my second act, the-what-I-did -after-my-miscarriage-broke-my-heart act. My friend is my very same age and has had similar struggles and I said to her, “You know how you always tell me to put my feet on the ground and point them forward? Well, when I moved to Park City, that is what I did. I had no idea what would happen. I was so sad. And then I started opening my heart ever-so-slightly and there you were, a better friend than I could hope for. You got it and understood this crappy infertility road and since the moment we met at Another Way, you have always been willing to travel the road with me.”
Grateful is what I am. I am stubborn. I desperately want to control all outcomes. When I let go, when I point my feet forward, people and places always come into my life that heal me and are so much better than anything I could have imagined. Because I got out of bed and put my feet on the ground, I could begin to heal.