After the reclamation of my body following five years of trying to conceive and loss, I find myself looking across A vista of change. Physical change, emotional change and environmental change as we decorate our living room. I pushed for the redecoration because I felt I couldn’t spend rainy winter days stuck in there with Oskar. It felt sad, almost uncomfortable. Full of memories maybe?
You might recognise the photograph above- it’s the place I went to in the days after Robyn was born sleeping. I had another photograph taken there on his due date when I was first pregnant with Oskar, and this one is of me with Oskar recently. A tryptch of change in the one landscape.
Postnatal cycle number two rolled into town with so much emotional baggage I didn’t see coming. Until I looked on the calendar- it’s September this week- which means a year since the cycle I got pregnant with Oskar (8th September for the period & 22nd of September he was thawed, if we want to be precise. Those dates are stamped in my mind).
Well, so what right? That’s what I asked myself while I cried all afternoon.
So what, because it reminds me that it has been a year since we entered a new chapter. And what an amazing chapter, no doubt about that.
So what, because I don’t want to leave the previous chapters behind or put them on a shelf or under my pillow. I want them to be alive with the pages turning in the chapter I’m in now. I want them to breathe the same air and squint in the same sunlight. I want to hear their heartbeat at the same time as mine and I want to hold them tight and not let go. So what.
I know Robyn and his twin have gone. I know time is lapsing those moments now and these new chapters are growing into beautiful stories. I know Oskar is here and illustrating some of those stories. And I know, I really know I have to find a way of taking them with me in a form that acknowledges the continuation of life.
New baby. New routine. New living room colours. New book shelves. New photographs.
The spot where I sat in the dark at night, numb, when I couldn’t sleep, is exposed and pale now the sofa has moved. After the highs of reclamation, I’m in the lows of transformation with no sense of where it is I should be stood.
The song ‘Dancing on my own’ by Calum Scott is on repeat for me at the moment. Although it’s actually about unrequited love, the loneliness and emotion of the words just remind me of this chapter in transformation.
“So far away but still so near, the lights go on, the music dies. but you don’t see me standing here, I just came to say goodbye. I’m in the corner watching you kiss her, I’m right over here, why can’t you see me, I’m giving it my all but I’m not the guy your taking home, I keep dancing on my own”.
Transformation is inevitable but painful.Maybe it takes time to find your place within it?
Until then I’ll keep dancing on my own.