Thursday, June 7, 2012

Fading Away

When I was in High School one of my friends, one of the neighborhood kids, you know the ones that are in your group, not your "click" but your group. They live right up the street and you go through Kindergarten all the way to High School with them and you do everything with them, right down to cutting school and getting caught. One of those friends. When I was in High School one of my friends died in a car crash the night of graduation.

I used to think I would never forget.

And there are some things that I haven't.

The phone call from my best friend in High School telling me he had died. I can still hear the sorrow in her voice on the other end of the telephone.

The funeral, the ride in the back of the limo with his father on the way to the cemetery. The line of cars that went for miles behind us with their headlights on all for him.

But there are some things I just can't seem to remember.

And I am not saying that I have forgotten my friend. Obviously not but the details are fading.

I can't remember his voice but I do remember some of the things he said. But the sound of his voice has faded.

I know he was goofy and even typing that makes me smile. But I can't remember any of the silly things he used to do.

And his face. I know he had a sweet face and I see a flash of what could be his face but his features have faded.

I know I could go back into old photos and yearbooks to see him. But as soon as the photos go back into the box or the yearbook closes, it's just not there anymore. Not like it used to be. Not as vivid as it used to be. It's a like a trace or a ghost.

It's like an artist removing a character from a sketch. Little by little they start to disappear as they are being erased from the illustration one part at a time from the bottom up until there is nothing left but the trace of an image that was once there. A faint outline of what could have been. A character that's faded away...once was there but then removed.

It's like my sailor. Yes, I can go back and look at the photos of us together but the features of his face are fading, fading away from my memory and as hard as I try to remember the only time I can truly see his face clearly is in my dreams and even those are now fading and very infrequent. But never while I am awake can I see his face clearly. It's a flash. It's a sense but not the complete picture. It's almost not tangible anymore.

And I used to be able to picture myself pregnant and being mother so clearly.

When I was with my sailor I would have these vivid visions of him wrapping his arms around me from behind and bear hugging me and our baby through my big, beautiful belly. I could see it. Clearly see it. Every detail.

When I started this journey all I could do is see myself pregnant.

I had no problem closing my eyes and seeing my baby on the ultrasound screen. Hearing their heartbeat in the corners of my mind. It beat with mine.

And I could picture myself being a mother. Holding my baby. Giggling with and smiling at and kissing my baby.

I would also have these strong visions in church about my adoption and could picture my baby's christening.

I would dream about my baby. I had dreams all the time.

I dreamt of a beautiful, bald headed, chubby little baby boy about 5 months old in white "feety" pjs adorn with Christmas trees and I fed him in my red leather chair that faces the TV in my living room.

I dreamed of my sweet little girl of toddler age with soft brown curls, sucking on her pointer finger and laughing. We were outside and I was holding her on my hip. She was wearing a white sundress with cherries decorating it.

I could see them. Clearly. I would dream about them. Often.

But now they are fading.

I remember the day before I had my ultrasound, the one that told me I was going to miscarry again. I remember getting this distinct feeling. All week I had be walking on sunshine, reveling in my pregnancy. I even bought something for the nursery. The elephant mirror I had my eye on.

I was in my bedroom getting dressed thinking about being pregnant in the summer. And I thought to myself: "I hope it's not too hot this year" and as soon as that thought passed my mind another one came in and it won't be pregnant this summer...and I knew...I knew in that moment it was over. And that amazing feeling of being pregnant faded.

And ever since then I can't seem to picture myself pregnant. It's slowly fading from my view.

Just the other day a dear friend of mine posted a video of her newborn son making faces and noises when she would speak to him.

I watched that video in awe. It's so beautiful.

And in an instant. It happened again and this thought crossed my mind that will never have that...

All my visions of being a mother are fading.

I can't see my babies and I don't dream of them anymore. It's almost not tangible.

Fading away...all slowly disappearing until it's a distant memory and I don't know how to stop it. I am afraid that the only thing that will be left is a trace. A trace of an image that once was there, like an artist erasing a character from a sketch it will disappear. And all that is left is a faint outline of what could have been.



  1. I have a clear vision of us both walking around the market with our babies, and won't let it fade until it's reality :o)

  2. As always your writing amazes me. This one also made me cry. If your vision is fading for you, I will continue to carry the one I have had for you. Remember my dream last year of me going to the airport to pick all you single ladies up and our LO for our reunion? I still clearly see that dream, so I will carry it for you until it becomes a reality. I believe that my friend. Hugs

  3. I have tears in my eyes from reading this. What a beautiful, heartbreaking post. I can definitely relate to that vision of motherhood fading away. But I try my best to hold on to the few images that are still left. It's all I can do.


  4. This made me cry because I'm going through the very same thing. I used to dream of my child all the time. Every day. But now it's a huge effort to conjure up those fantasies again. It doesn't come naturally anymore. For a long time, those dreams were what kept me going. Without them, I find myself losing the will to keep fighting.

  5. My heart breaks for you & hate that your dream seems to be fading. I am sorry...I still have hope for you.

  6. I would blame the hormones for my tears but I probably would have cried even not on the hormones. You always seem to have such a beautiful way of saying what I am thinking and feeling.

  7. A gutting post and beautifully written. Maybe the picture can be on an Etch-a-Sketch? Perhaps when the vision is shaken and sifted away to a faint outline or barely visible, we have to fiddle with the knobs and draw another one? Don't give up.

  8. This is a very beautifully written post. I understand this. I really hope that a new picture replaces the old.

  9. I sincerely hope that you're writing a novel or something. The way that you can capture a moment, an emotion, a thought is just amazing and so moving.

  10. I saw your blog for the first time, and how moving, how sad, this post. My heart hurts for you. I have had this feeling of utter loss of hope, wanting so badly to meet someone, get married, have children. In retrospect I never truly gave up my dream tho I said I did, many times. It was never the fairytale for me, but things did end up the way I had dreamed, more or less. I hope the same for you -- that your vision sharpens into focus, plans unfold and you finally reach your dreams, whatever you decide they are.

  11. It is a lovely post and so touching, one that hits straight to the heart and experiences I've also had. But I think there is a more positive spin there. The fading dreams and visions may mean that the reality of being a parent is closer than you think--hopefully you will be pregnant very soon. I had the same experience and now that I am (unbelievably) pregnant, I cannot envisage my child at all and still cannot believe that this will end with a baby rather than tears. I'm confident for you and praying for you that you'll soon be looking at an ultrasound screen and by next Spring, you'll be gazing at the very real face of your child.

  12. Here from CDLC. This is so poignant. I used to picture it, too, and it's fading. We're coming up on our one and only shot to make our girl a big sister. I can't picture her sibling anymore, but I'm hoping. And hoping that 2013 brings you healing, in whatever form.

  13. Here from the Creme. Thank you for sharing this post with us. What a beautiful, heart-wrenching piece of writing. I hope there is a chapter in your story someday that surprises a really, really good way...and brings you joy like you've never felt. I am wishing and hoping and praying that for you right now.



Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...