I picked up the box. I vaguely recalled what would be in there. Once I cracked open the first flap of the box, I knew. All of the paper from my old computer desk. Not only the paper, but the various other little things that reminded me of the day I packed them all up over three years ago. The magnets. The pacifier. The needles and instruction booklet on insulin. The phone-book sized medical file. The photos. The bills. The ultrasounds of pregnancy #2, AKA 46,XX. The e-mails to them from him.
It all came flooding back. All the pain and hurt I felt that many years ago. The sadness, the heartbreak. Yet, on some real level, I felt at peace. I felt comforted that I am at a whole new place. That I was able to tuck that hurt into my heart and move on with life. That I have a kindling of hope still burning within me that simply makes me feel that life is still worth living.
Dramatic, ha? Yeah, it pretty much helps me keep going, simply because some days, I'm never quite sure what I'm working towards or if those goals have any meaning to me anymore. There are days I want to give up. Give up on everything. I try very hard just to keep it together. Just to keep waking up each day and deal with the new stuff that will await me.
Infertility left a pretty bad scar. Will I ever recover?