Friday, March 2, 2007


After trading e-mails back and forth, my family doctor has suggested that I should talk to someone before this "gets set too much"... He might be right, but who's to say? There really aren't many people that I would talk to anyway. Derek talked to someone who we typically get along with quite well about how to help me shortly after the accident - and I ended up getting a big lecture about how it was time to move on (this was a week afterward) and to quit being sad and how I was just having a pity party... and "don't you DARE start feeling sorry for yourself." I guess there's merit to that, but...
Yes, I do feel a bit sorry for myself. Not as in "woe is me, pity me, poor poor Jenna" though. More as in... "I miss her. She was so much a part of me, and part of my life... and part of my plans." And yes, I depended on her and I'm feeling a lot like I've been turned loose without an advisor. I know that ultimately, all insight and wisdom and good comes from God. But He's used her for so much of that in my life. She, really, was the ONLY one other than Derek that I have ever talked to about so much... things like hopes, dreams... hurts... frustrations... dealing with infertility, wondering what to do next, how far to take it... faith... hope... the Bible... heaven (we talked about Heaven and the rapture and such a lot).
There isn't another woman that I know that I am even remotely that close to... especially not one old enough to have the wisdom and experience to help me through. One that gives good hugs, doesn't mind tears, and understands that expressing uncertainty or questioning what to do doesn't mean I have lost faith in God... one that isn't afraid to address any issue...
Gramma and I had a special, special bond. Her mom died when she was very young - she remembers it though. She had so much hurt tied in to that... it helped her understand me. And it helped her understand why, no matter what happened between my mom and the rest of the world, I loved her. And I needed her.
She had a miscarriage - and it hurt her so much. And that meant that when we've lost kids, she was able to comfort more effectively than other people. She had the same love for children that I have (I'm pretty sure I got it from her), and so she understood how in spite of the cost, in spite of the risk, in spite of the pain of loss, in spite of all of that - we keep pushing ahead with fertility treatments. She understood that deep longing for a child of our own.
I talked to her about everything... and it's not that I can't talk to Derek. I can. And I do. About everything. But he's not a woman. He's not a grandparent. He hasn't raised two generations of kids, been through the Depression, hasn't had the experiences and gained the wisdom she had. What I'd really like to be able to do is talk to HER about all this. But I can't. And while there are a FEW people I would be willing to talk to, as the good doctor has suggested, I wouldn't know where to start. One of them simply doesn't have the time, and has things far more important than listening to me. Another is not really in a position to do so - it probably wouldn't look good. A third is the doctor himself - but he's an MD, and how much counsel could he provide? A fourth tends to recommend an approach that I just can't do right now. A fifth seems unapproachable, and there's no solid basis for that. A sixth, while I would be okay with talking to them, isn't in a position to do so because they have other responisibilities, and if I did talk to them just as "friends"... it might help, as would most of the others... but I can't bring myself to do so.
All that to say... I wish there WAS someone I could talk to about this... someone who it would be appropriate to do so, someone who I trust, someone who shares the same stance faith-wise, someone who will either understand or else admit that they don't, someone who will be supportive and gentle... and someone who has the wisdom to actually HELP, not just listen.

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