Coming full circle

“It seems that when we give up on what was, well, that’s when things that we thought improbable, or impossible even, happen right before your eyes.” -- Kitty Walker, “Brothers & Sisters”

I made it.

Five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes later, I have come full circle. I passed my due date, my conception date, and now, finally, the one-year anniversary of my miscarriage. It was one year ago today that my life was turned upside down. In the last year, I have lost something -- and found something, too.

I have spent the last year on an intense journey of self-discovery -- one that I most definitely don’t recall signing up for. I’ve questioned my faith, my patience, my priorities. I’ve been angry, I’ve been in denial, I’ve been shattered, and slowly, I’ve managed to put myself back together again.

I never, in a million years, thought I would lose a child at age 24. I’m in good health. I don’t smoke. I drink very sporadically. I take my vitamins. I only go to Starbucks once or twice a week, and I don‘t eat sushi. OK, so maybe I don’t drink my recommended amount of milk every day, and I’d rather sleep an extra half hour than run on the treadmill, but seriously, come on.

But more importantly, I wanted it. I’ve spent my life pushing myself to succeed -- and, for the most part, I’ve done it. I was a good student from preschool through college. I got my dream job right out of college. I’ve been increasingly entrusted with new challenges at said job -- from taking over the election chart from a senior manager, to running the advance Sunday paper to, most recently, slotting. I was able to establish a name for myself within the L&C fic-writing community in a short amount of time and won two Kerths in my first year.

In short, I don’t do anything half-assed (except maybe that whole treadmill thing, which I currently technically do no-assed), and I don’t handle it well when I fail. And to have worked so hard to get pregnant in the first place (not that I’m complaining about the, uh, efforts, but as we all know, I am not the most patient person), and then not succeed, was an unbelievable blow. It still is.

I always indirectly knew it wasn‘t my fault, but I’ve always been very hard on myself, and it took a long time to truly believe that, and to accept that I didn‘t do anything wrong. If I hadn’t had that latte/glass of wine/Thai food … if I hadn’t told everyone before twelve weeks ... if I hadn’t bought all of those baby clothes so soon … if I hadn’t gone to the fateful ultrasound alone … My rationale has, at times, been pretty weak, but no one ever said grief is logical.

I called in sick yesterday when I decided that driving 42 miles to throw up all over my desk wasn’t such a hot idea. And as I lay on the couch all afternoon, reading “Faustian Bargain” for the zillionth time and vacillating between needing a cold shower and crying over Lois’ miscarriage (talk about being able to relate to your hero in a way you wish you couldn‘t), I had a weird sense of déjà vu.

A year ago, I was lying at the same end of the same couch, reading the same story, and in a lot worse condition. (And in my own defense, I am not a masochist; I wasn’t really thinking about anything when I started reading FB today except that I was bored being home, and that we seriously are in need of a supply closet at work if Chris ever gets a job there. Just kidding.) But I kept thinking that maybe this is some higher being’s way of pointing out that being home for the day with a stomach bug isn‘t that bad in the larger scheme of things.

It’s kind of bittersweetly ironic that “Faustian Bargain” is the story I was reading yesterday -- and a year ago. Last fall, Sue told me that once I got past the important dates -- the due date and the one-year anniversary, I would be OK. That piece of advice was the best thing I’ve ever read by her (and yes, that includes all of her Kerth winners). I clung to it for so long, and she was right. I started to feel OK after Feb. 15 came and went, and now, on July 31, I can honestly say I am at peace with myself.

Yes, I lost something, and I’ll never get it back. But sitting here a year later, I still have a hell of a lot -- an incredible husband who would do anything for me, wonderful friends who have rallied to support me from all corners of the Earth, a career that I love, a pastime that provides an outlet for my frustrations and my passion. A year ago, I didn’t see how it ever would be again, but from the view on my couch, life’s actually pretty good these days.

I can focus on what is to come, and not what was.

The year is over. The circle is closed.