This I Believe

The most recent assignment in my writing class was to write a "This I Believe" essay. I have written a few of these over the years, but this one is my favorite so far.

 

 

The Cure for Grief

                I once heard it said that the only cure for grief is grieving. I believe grieving is not only important, but necessary for growth. I haven’t always known this to be true. Even just a few months ago, I didn’t understand the purpose of “wallowing” or allowing myself to be sad. However, personal experience has taught me that grieving purges numbed emotions, cleanses the soul, and allows for hope and healing.

                It was a year after we first started trying to conceive. “We’ll try the procedure again, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll try injectable medications.” the doctor explained. “Your chances are around six percent for this round, but that’s higher than anything you’ve had previously.” After spending thousands of dollars and being sick for weeks from the medication, I only had a six percent chance of becoming a mother. Before my diagnosis, I was one of those people that said, “Why don’t you just adopt?”, as if adopting a child is like going to Nordstrom to pick out some shoes. Before this trial, I had no idea how deep the desire to create life is. It’s a yearning so deep it physically hurts to think about it.

At first, I didn’t grieve at all. I didn’t grieve the loss of the natural pregnancies and large family I had always wanted. I felt like my situation didn’t “deserve” grieving. I told myself, “People are starving, oppressed, and dying; infertility is a small problem to have.”  I forced myself to move forward with the treatments. They were painful, but I reminded myself I was choosing them. I was ill, but I reminded myself that people have much worse ailments. I was heartbroken, but I shoved the emotions down and smiled when people asked me about it. I even joked about the fact that the nurses at the fertility clinic mistook me for an egg donor, because I was one of their youngest patients. I thought that the only way I could deal with it was putting a smile on my face, whether it felt real or not.

Two years later, the day I had been waiting for finally came. I sat staring at my phone, too scared to listen to the voicemail. I summoned all the courage I had and pressed play. “Hi, Hannah, this is Christina from Dr. Craig’s office. I’m calling to let you know that your blood pregnancy test was positive! Congratulations!” I sat there, too stunned to smile, and then burst into tears of relief and joy.

                The week that followed was the best of my life. Brian, my husband, would kiss my belly before going to work, and we talked about all of our future plans for our little one. I shopped for baby clothes and made plans for the nursery. It seemed like it had all finally paid off.

When we lost our baby, I no longer had the choice of whether or not to grieve. Slowly, as the reality of it set in, my body shut down on its own. It was as if every buried emotion from the last two years boiled to the top and spilled out of my heart, infecting my entire body. I remember feeling like I was walking through mud. Every step took three times the energy it should.

“You need to take time to grieve.” my mom said, her hand on my shoulder. “You can choose to take time to rest, or your body will force you to. It’s going to happen either way.” So, I did it. I quit my job and took something part-time. I read books, talked it through with friends, and spent hours just sleeping and crying. After a while, I started to find myself again. I felt more authentic than I had in years. I was honest with myself about how I was feeling, and I shared my experiences with others.

The most important thing is, grieving allowed me to hope. Having hope for the future means letting go of past disappointments. I couldn’t move on until I allowed my mind, body, and spirit to process the difficulty of what I had experienced. As humans, we tend to compare ourselves to each other, and that often includes comparing our trials. The truth is, the struggles of life are all relative to our own strengths and experiences. We all have problems, and just because our problems may not be as serious or life-threatening as someone else’s doesn’t mean they aren’t real. Trials are meant to help us to learn and grow, but we can’t do that unless we acknowledge and work through them. Grieving isn’t dwelling on the negative or feeling sorry for ourselves. It’s the process of recognizing heartache and allowing time for healing. The ability to grieve is a gift from God. Without it we would be numb, and without it we wouldn’t have hope.