Did you ever wander merrily along in life, thinking everything was okay and sunshiney again, and something came along which knocked you right off your feet and back down into The Dark?
Because that’s what just happened to me. And it was so totally unexpected and so incredibly painful that I can’t even contain it – I’m meant to be going to bed (I need to be up in 6 hours) and this hurts so much that I need to try to write it out of me before I can even begin to think about sleep.
Perhaps a combination of factors, but one major tipping point just ganged right up on me.
I was bimbling around the Blogosphere (as I am wont to do) and I came across Mike’s latest post at Joe Floggers. About his gorgeous granddaughter (and much beloved inadvertent contributor to the TToT hop) KeKe. And I fell completely to pieces. In moments. I can’t even hold Mike responsible, because his post and perspective on being a grandfather are just so awesome, and so beautiful.
Because here’s the thing which suddenly struck me (and I can’t begin to think how this never occurred to me before on such a deep level) – Husby and I are not going to get the chance* to make our parents, grandparents.
For my parents, this would be for the second time, as they already have Niece and Neff, and adore them to pieces. To watch the grandparent/grandchild relationships playing out is beautiful, and I love seeing them interacting together. It’s a very different bond from the parent bond or the aunty bond. A most lovely one.
But for Husby’s parents, this would be for the first time. Their first grandchild from their first son. So special.
And so beyond us.
High hopes and all hopes lying in smithereens as the impact of our diagnosis and infertility ripple outwards to hurt more than just us.
Because, of course, they’re grandparents in the same way that we are parents. Invisibly. With no beautiful child to show for it. No funny anecdotes or lovely photographs to proudly share.
That precious status denied them.
Ironically, today is the day I’m having an older post of mine – ‘My Kids Gave Me Superpowers’ – republished, over at The Day We First Met. It’s exciting to think about how my story is going out and (hopefully) spreading understanding and solidarity. And excruciating to think that just at this time, when the ‘Not Grandparents’ thing hit me, I’m being shared with regard to inheritance.
I shall never see the family traits from our respective sides, reflected in my children. Probably.
Never see whether my great-grandmother’s chin makes an appearance again (as it did in my cousins). Or my Grandad’s nose. Or my Nana’s (Sis and I got one each of these). Or my Dad’s forehead. Or Husby’s Mum’s eyes. And what makes it worse, is that our parents will never see them either – those physical lines of ancestry being passed down.
Hold onto my hopes, friends – all my sparks just went out.
[Also, in a horrible, weird way, I feel almost like I ‘shouldn’t’ be posting this – ‘shouldn’t’ be engaging with these feelings, because they’re indulgent and just focus on all the shit and ‘can’t have’ of this situation, when instead I should be looking to my blessings or trying to find a way to do some Good. And I hate that I feel there are ‘should’s and ‘should not’s about grief. Because on one level, I know it’s bollocks, but on another level, I’m aware that it’s true, and maudlin self-pity and whining about the ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’s is no way to go about life. But tonight I just want to sleep. Dreamlessly.]
*Yes, there are three months left. Big whoop. Might as well be three days**
**Damn, self-pity’s unattractive***