This post started out as a comment to a beautiful post written by an amazing woman and DBM I'm glad to call my friend.
This is beautiful, B.
So very relieved and glad that your friends' sons made it to the 32-week milestone. (I remember what a far-away dream that milestone felt like at 20 weeks.) My sister has talked a little bit about that realization that the baby is here and (she) is okay . She recently talked about making plans for pre-school and realizing that she's here to stay.
Your description of the classroom in winter, and understanding the poem in a different way was wonderful. Without you even trying, life...spring revealed itself to you. It seems, though, that it wasn't just that you saw it, but you were present enough to see it. Some part of you was open to it. Indeed, a precious gift.
My loss happened in the depths of winter, exactly a year after Natan, and I dreaded the coming of that first spring. The light I saw was dim, like the first gray light of sunrise, maybe. But it never got past that. I had always loved spring, blooming with color and life. But there was the due date. There was the death of my mother 7 years earlier. My sunlight was like that at the Arctic Circle during the darker days of fall, as the days disappear.
It wasn't until a year later that I began to actually see light. About 6 or 8 weeks before the birth of my niece, I found light and hope. She still holds a special place for me. Somehow, when I see or hear or think of her, it makes me happy, makes me feel hopeful.
For a little bit, anyway. there always seems to be a bit of a hangover, letting go of the love that does not belong to me. Or, rather... I don't know how to say it. When I hear my niece say, "Mama?" and my sister says, "Yes, little one?" my heart fills and my eyes sting. For her. And for me.
But I go back for more. My sister's child, my brother's. B's amazing son, S's little boy and girl. B's two little boys. J's girl and boy.
I find myself drawn, even, to others' children. C and I are working on figuring out what will come next. Somehow, there is always something else to focus on. Stuff to get done, plan, work on. I'm not strong enough yet to venture out and do research, make appointments myself. My sister has offered to help me find a real IF therapist, or do anything she can to help with the process, which I greatly appreciate. Part of me feels like I need to be able to do this myself, if I'm going to be able to get through a pregnancy or the adoption process. Maybe just some help getting started. We are both (C and I) still struggling to talk about the details of our experience and figuring out together what comes next.
I still don't know. I try to be open, hopeful that joy -- that deep joy -- will come back, and not just in the domain of family-building. Not in a constant way, but here and there... to be anticipated.