I was supposed to be having a baby around this time.
If it was a girl, her name would be Ember.
We still have not come to any decisions. Our adoption is still on hold. We are not trying to get pregnant.
Sometimes I feel like I am stuck, standing still, eternally waiting, while my entire life rushes by me. I close my eyes and can still hear all the noise. I can hear the alarm clocks and the ringing phones and the microwave beeping. I can hear the low roar of the garage door opening when Steven comes home. I can hear my children stomping down the stairs. I can hear their breaths in the middle of the night.
But I can’t hear my own heart beating.
Is it that noise, that sound of myself, that I seek, or is it silence?
Maybe silence is what I want to wash over me, to drown out the noise, to leave me cleansed, new. Like some sort of baptism in which I come out of the waters drenched in the belief that I am whole even when I am not strong.
I tend to try to be strong. But I think it is time for me to embrace the emptiness. The heartache. The inability. The failure. The quiet.
It is time to inhabit the absence. The absence of a baby, the absence of a Thai child, the absence of words, the absence of feelings, the absence of all those dreams I held so tightly to. I think, in that absence, in that place where I allow myself to be weak and broken, that’s where I’ll find wholeness again.