On this eve of a new year, let me write you this lovenote of a different kind.
2014 has been awful. Those looking in, and even you, will hear such a statement and remind me of the good in our lives. Our beautiful home, our overcrowded bed filled with furbabies, our vacations, even our material possessions. My intent would never be to overlook these things, nor to appear ungrateful. Don't think for a moment, my love, that I fail to recognize just how lucky I am in this life. I remain aware with every blink of my lashes how much we have together.
But this year was still awful. And for that, I owe you an apology.
Infertility took what should have been our honeymoon phase and tossed it out the window. In its place were more tears than I care to admit, more visits to doctors than I'd ever care to count, more frustration, defeat, disappointment, and heartache than I felt I could handle most days. It turned your optimistic, healthy wife into a depressed, emotional-eating, sad human being. Yet despite this, you would remain true to the inscription in my wedding ring, smile, hug my (slightly larger) body tightly, and remind me that I'm "still your sunshine." For that, I love you even more.
The thing about this road we've traveled is that I've yet to determine what I need from you. I've used up your strength and I've exhausted your kindness. Infertility feels like a beast inside me. I remain fully aware of what a shell I've become, yet I spin my wheels trying to emerge a stronger, better wife.
To imagine my life as anything but a mother is nearly impossible. It feels as though it would require a complete deconstruction of everything I've defined myself as being. My sense of self is woven tightly with a sense of maternal belonging. A fiber strung through every thought in my day is difficult to silence. The yearning in my heart is relentless.
I apologize for losing me. For looking to tomorrow when I should have been looking at today. For being a distant resemblance of the woman you fell in love with. For completely wasting 2014 in the waiting game of fertility. I let infertility define me when I should have defined it instead.
I don't promise to have any master plan to fix this for 2015, but I do promise to take some time to be more present, to articulate what I need from you at my weakest of moments, to try to contain infertility and grant it less power over our lives, and to work at restoring my health and happiness. Your sunshine has faded and as much as I'm sure you miss her, I grieve her disappearance just as much.
2015 will be our year. It will not be infertility's year. Ours. We will define it.
Always your sunshine,