I found the pattern for him last August and immediately had to make him, knitting him within 5 hours. Polaris was meant to be a sign of hope, a gift for my child. I believed in the hope he symbolized so much that I pulled him out of the hope chest at the beginning of this FET cycle as a promise to my embies.
On Sunday, following the news that I had miscarried, I picked Polaris up and crawled into bed, holding him close. On my first day back to work, Polaris was stashed away in my purse, coming out during the moments I couldn't hold my sorrow back. This toy that was meant for my child has become my security blanket, helping me deal with this loss.
The past couple of days have been a struggle. Tears have appeared for no reason and I've found there are moments where I am overcome with sadness. Monday was spent crying in the library while trying to finish grading and waiting for car repairs to be completed. Today I hid out in my office until I needed to teach, hoping to prevent others from seeing my grief. What got me through the day was having moments to hold Polaris, allowing me to remember that they did exist.
The wound created from this miscarriage is larger than anticipated. Deeper too. I'm struggling with daily dealings, trying to find as much distraction to prevent the tears. That's been the easy part.
The hard part has come with fighting the bitterness that wants to seep in. It would be so easy to give in and hate anyone who is able to produce children without a second thought when I so desperately want to hold mine. To give into despair, giving up on life all together. I find during rough moments that I have to consciously stop the unhealthy dialogues that run through my head. If not for myself, then for the ones I lost. Polaris helps remind me of that.
The reality is, I'm raw. Very raw. Grey is too. He's trying hard to hide all of this with humor and hope. But we are forever changed by this. By this whole journey.
My new challenge is moving forward as planned. Though I'm determined to be the person my children would want me to be, I'm finding that I'm feeling very alone. Grey's mother is coming out to spend the weekend with us, but the rest of the family has been silent. And, honestly, I'm hurt by this. I'm sure there are a million explanations for why, but I really can't think of one that doesn't minimize this loss. Which only makes it harder to not go to those dark places.
The only thing that helps reset all of it is sleep. And holding Polaris. Both acts help shut off my brain, living in a state of not thinking, just observing.
Three more days until we see Dr. Optimism. Of living in a state of denial and shock. All the while clinching to hope in the form of an unusual teddy bear.
The ultimate sacrifice
6 hours ago