Wednesday, January 27, 2010

When words fail

If you're reading this, you know that while I may be on the fringes of the IF community, I would never presume to know the pain of IF.  I've been blessed to not have suffered that monster for myself, and I realize that that is a *hugs* blessing.  I've witnessed what it can do to relationships, lives, careers, families, and I thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster every day that I have only witnessed it and never participated in this travail.  I cry for those of you that do go that route, and I cheer when one of you wins.  I hate the situations, but I love the beautiful people that have emerged victorious from this battle, and the warrior women (and men) still fighting. 

But what does someone on the outside way when it's over, and the war is won?  I recently found out that someone close to me but whom I only lately started to consider a friend and not the boogey man in the closet (yeah, it's weird) may have won the battle.  After eight years of trying, they should be bringing home a child today.  I say should because today is the last day the birth mother has to rescind, and last I heard the birth mom's mother and sister were being idiots.  I've been on pins and needles all day, and no word.  My stomach is in knots.  I can only imagine how they feel.  So, I can't imagine how they feel, I can only imagine a tiny corner of how they feel.  It's not a good corner.

So I ask, when they come home with baby, what does one say?  "Congratulations" seems so light, not really worthy of the accomplishment.  This is a couple that went through it all essentially alone.  With my surrogacy, they were aloof, distant and neutral.  Never a for a moment would I have guessed they were in this hell.  What on Earth do you say?  "I'm sorry that you went through that"?  "I'm sorry that I didn't know"?  "I'm sorry that I helped others, but it never even occurred to me that you might need help too"?

My heart hurts for them, and it hurts worse knowing that they did it alone.  What I do, is help people, and I couldn't help them.  And I'm going to keep aching until I hear for sure that they are the proud new parents of a beautiful baby who is safe at home and doing wonderfully.  And they're so exhausted they can't see farther than the perfect smile of a newborn.  Wish them luck, please!

1 comment:

  1. Lisa, you have SUCH a big heart! Even the fact that you're hurting over this speaks volumes about what an amazing person you are.

    That's the other shitty part about IF: It's shameful, so we don't talk about it freely with other friends and acquaintances. And when we don't talk about it, no one knows we're struggling with it. And then we're sad when we feel isolated and like there's no one's on our side or willing to help. But how can our friends reach out when we hide our suffering so well???

    I hope with all my heart that your friends end up with their baby. I can't even imagine the intensity of this situation.