Sitting here, on my bed. Dog quiet at my elbow.
And I have this growing sense of...
Tears. Those are actually here.
I was just looking at pictures on FB, of JK and her beautiful, beautiful family: the one she has created with her husband (with years of heartache and teams of doctors).
And her father, the one who died on Christmas Day -- that Christmas Day -- is all over them, these pictures.
I don't even see direct resemblance. But I can't shake that feeling. He's just there.
Something hurts. Or feels familiar.
I'm not even sad about this cycle, as doomed as it appears. I mean, I'm sad. I'm disappointed. It's just...I don't know.
I'm matter-of-fact about it, somehow. (I keep almost typing "somewho.")
Almost too much to hope for, maybe. That this round of trying again would actually result in a pregnancy. Or, dare I say it, a living baby. In the first cycle or two? Please.
What was I thinking?
That we could try this again? We could do this? We've come far enough that somehow our effort, our pain, our growth would be rewarded...somehow? Oh, my magical thinking skills are honed, aren't they?
I keep forgetting. The universe is not a just place. It is not about "earn" or "deserve." It is just the universe.
"Who said the world's supposed to work?" -- House, House, MD, Instant Karma, Epis.ode 119