Every year up until this one, I have had the faith that next year will be a better one, or at least, I’ve had my eye on a goal to finish, a project to complete, a change to make.
Sitting here on the last day of 2013, I can’t find a way to make that promise to myself. I’m still numb, still frozen in place. Some piece of myself never left that ultrasound room. Some piece of my own heart died when the tiny heartbeat stopped.
And wouldn’t you know it, exactly one year after Dr. B told me that I really needed to see a specialist if I was going any further in treating my infertility was my D and C to end my pregnancy. I think next December 17, I’m going to take the day off from work and refuse to get out of bed, answer the phone, or do anything of import. If anything could completely extinguish the little flame of hope about how life might be better in the future, that odd coincidence is it.
For the first time, I’m actually afraid of what the next year might bring.
But despite all of the crap, all the depression, all the anger, all the sadness, I do have some hopes for what 2014 will have in it.
There will be Arthur and somehow leaning into one another through it all.
There will be running. Slowly. Even though I look amazingly stupid when I run. And it will be good.
There will be Walden to reread. There will be Longfellow poems to recite. There will be J.R.R. Tolkien’s genius ending to The Lord of the Rings that at once encapsulates hope while refusing to ignore the brokenness. There will be Nadia Bolz-Weber to remind me that I can be a feminist, swear, and still somehow find faith.
There will be songs to dance around the living room in.
There will be people I am so damn lucky to have in my life, who are somehow able to shine light into the dark areas. Even when I’d rather sulk in the dark.
There will be chances for me to give that light to others. Because despite the many broken pieces, I am finally whole enough to reach out in a way I couldn’t before.
And in some ways, even if it isn’t exactly what I had planned on, even if there’s no promise, even if there’s no goal I can reach, maybe it’s enough. Enough to overcome the fear. Enough to make me step out into the unknown. Enough to keep on walking through this life.
May you have enough of whatever it takes you to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Enough to somehow hold on to life, even when that life looks nothing like you ever pictured. Enough to find what you seek in 2014.