The year of being thankful.

Last year was measured in the ticks of the clock between tears. In the hours consumed by waves of sadness. In the months that separated us from sad events. I remember thinking that if I could just make it to the next first of the month, that would make it easier to accept Oliver's death. Or that if I could focus on knitting or quilting or painting or holiday card making, that I could compensate for my body's inability to sustain the thing I wanted to create most. Last year, 2010, was the year of living from moment to moment. Of surviving. Of not letting the overwhelming grief wash me away. Allen was my life raft and I clung to him for survival. I'll probably never know how hard last year was for him. Watching his wife struggle against crushing grief while all he could do is stand by and hold me or make dinners. He was my anchor.

I knew that I needed to snap out of it. That Allen deserved better than someone who was barely functioning. He deserved a partner and a fully functioning human being. But getting to the point where that was a realistic goal was a long slog through the trenches of my grief. I realize that I sound a bit melodramatic, and I feel guilty for it. I realize that I was unbelievably lucky to have the support and love. I didn't have to scrape to figure out where my next meal was coming from, or watch family members gunned down in violent upheavals. My drifting, my feeling of being lost and so, so incredibly sad... These are first world problems, as a friend would say. Loss and grief are universal, but it's also (forgive the Disney cliche) the circle of life.

On New Year's Day, I marked the hour of Oliver's passing with a bit of reflection about the last year and how far we've come since then. I remember very little about that day other than the pot of black eyed peas bubbling on the stove, Allen's frantic drive to the emergency vet, my calm directions to him and to Oliver in between the breaths of air I forced in to his lungs. My pounding on the door of the clinic, the veterinarian coming back out, too soon, to say he was gone, they way his eyes were glossy and the eyelids that wouldn't shut the way they do in the movies. I remember wanting to shout at the vet to get back in there and try again, but I don't know how much made it past my numb lips. God, I miss him.

But I realized that wallowing in my own grief wasn't honoring his memory, nor was it particularly helpful in our every day lives. I owe it to Allen, to myself, to our kitties, to our friends and family, and to Oliver to get back to the business of living. As for the miscarriage, well, time heals all wounds, I suppose, and though I think about what might have been frequently, I am finally at a place in my life where I don't live there anymore. Oliver was tangible. While he wasn't the first beloved family member I ever lost, he was the first that made me realize what a tenuous hold we all have on the illusion of control in our lives, and it rocked me to the core. The miscarriage was less tangible because it was so early, but the pain and emotional fallout were just as real, and probably heightened because the two losses were so close and so tied together.

So, now we are adopting. It's amazing to realize that I went from a literal emotional wreck who had to find a way out of bed each morning to someone who is strong enough and stable enough to even consider caring for another human being. After dragging myself through the crushing darkness, I know I will never go back there again. I have tasted sorrow and it is bitter, but I also know I can come out the other side strong. And while I am missing pieces of my heart, I am otherwise whole. And those missing pieces make me better and stronger in their absence. We are finding peace in our lives, and finding that having something so positive to focus on has a miraculous way of drowning out the negative.

So this year is the year of renewal. The year of being thankful. We are measuring time as the space between the miracles in our lives. The incredible love we have been given, the gifts of having a home and security and food on the table, the generosity of spirit we have been so lucky to receive. I have gotten cards and emails from family and friends-who-are-family that made me realize that even during my darkest moments, we were never alone. The outpouring of love and kindness has been overwhelming, to say the least, and I can only promise you all that I will try each and every day to be worthy of it.

We still haven't made a decision about the course of our adoption path. Wait for China and an older child or take our chances in the lottery of the domestic adoption pool? I don't want to wait any longer, and doing the home study seems to be a good way of being proactive, but if we choose to wait for the China option, doing that now is not in our best interests. I think Allen is going to have to make the final decision because my desire for instant gratification is warring with the rational part of me that knows it's a long haul either way. The rest of parenting should be a breeze after this, right?  Right?!