This was composed while I waited today for the doctor during my 6 week post-op from my hysterectomy -a day after Father’s day. My surgery was 3 days before Mother’s day. I can hear them checking for an unborn baby’s heartbeat next door. A week after my surgery, my first post-op, I heard the same. It’s a beautiful sound. It’s breath taking moment that I am unexpectedly forced to participate in.
If you love someone in my shoes or who struggles with infertility or the horrible sorrow that comes with miscarriages– love them enough to give them a moment. I know they want to be excited for you, but emotions tend to rear their heads at odd moments.
Ladies, and gentlemen, who also struggle with this grief, love yourself enough to give yourself that moment.
(A letter to a friend)
Give Me A Moment (RKG 6/2017)
Please, just give me a moment.
Just a few to catch my breath.
Just a few to stop the tears.
Please, my friend, just give me a moment to grieve.
Give me a chance to package up these emotions and store them in a safe place.
I’ll be happy for you in just a moment, but this is still so new.
No matter how many years go by, knee jerk reactions might still bring tears to my eyes.
It’s not against you, please don’t ever think that.
But, you see, grief is this weird thing. It ebbs and flows and sometimes attempts to drown you like a sneaker wave.
Even if I had known this was needed, so that I can have a better life, grief is waiting for those moments when I think I’m past the pain.
The what ifs and the could have beens, are annoying little mosquitos waiting to suck the joy out of your moment.
So please. Just give me a moment to spare you unwarranted pain.
You deserve your joy and your excitement. Please, help me not to tarnish it.
I am so happy for you, my dear sweet friend. I’ll be the first to plan your shower of joy, if you just give me a moment to wipe the unexpected tears from my eyes.
My joy for you will overshadow these feelings of sadness for a future left unwritten, if you but give me a moment to acknowledge the pain it carries.
I have such plans to spoil your beloved little joy, books to read, games to play. If you would just sit a moment with me under my little rain cloud.
Just hold my hand for a moment, please.
I’ll dry off these tears and force my smile until it’s real. I’ll hold that little sweet bundle and count the toes.
I’ll wait until I’m home, before I think of the no longer possible.
Don’t give me platitudes because you can’t think of what to say. Just promise me to chew on your words a little before you say them to me.
I don’t want to be bitter, so please just give me a moment.
I’ll be happy for you. I’ll be so excited for you, if you just know that I need a moment.
A moment to shake hands with my grief.
A moment to acknowledge the empty space in me.
A moment to remind myself, that grief is okay, but so is joy.
Give me a moment to move pass this sorrow so I can be with you in your joy.
Please, give me just a moment.
This is connected to my post Fight For Your Health if you are curious to what lead to this letter.
I also encourage you dear reader, that if you find either post encouraging or enlightening, to please like it on this blog so others might be able to find it. In this world of blogs, billions of posts are published every day. Help a writer out and put a star on one that helps you!