One day last week my across the street neighbor's son learned how to ride his bike without training wheels. I played witness to this momentous occasion, albeit from the safety of my own living room.
The little guy was so excited. I was impressed by his fearlessness and commitment to figuring it out. Even when he fell, he'd pop right back up, dust himself off, and get right back on the bike. It started with his dad running along side him, pushing, and helping him balance, and eventually the little guy doing it on his own. At first he was slow and wobbly, threatening to fall over at any second, and then faster and more confidently peddling up and down the sidewalk.
His dad beamed with pride. That was HIS son who was rocking riding the bike without training wheels. He was enjoying every single minute of teaching his son how to ride his bike and being there to run alongside him and cheer him on.
His mom was wrought with anxiety. You could tell it was taking everything in her power to not run and scoop him up off of the ground to kiss his boo boos every time he wrecked. Instead she stood there with a smile on her face, shouting encouraging words and giving high fives when he finally did it.
It was a happy/sad thing to witness. It was so cool to watch the little guy figure out how to ride his bike. But I can't help but think that this little guy is the right age to be one of our children, and that makes me a little sad. The scene that played out in front of me is a snippet of how I imagined that my life would play out. The reality is that my life is much different.
I sat down on my living room floor with tears silently rolling down my cheeks. The silent tears morphed into the kind of sobs that make your whole body shake. By the time it was over I was exhausted and my emotions were raw in a way they haven't been for quite some time.
I don't know what name to give whatever this was. I wasn't jealous. It wasn't longing. I didn't want to trade places with them. I wasn't hurt by what I watched. I wasn't angry. But it definitely triggered something deep within me. I'll add it to what Sarah so eloquently referred to as "the bottomless bucket of 'what the fuck was THAT?'" and move on.
I'm convinced that time does heal and that it does get easier. But sometimes things still hit out of nowhere and make me realize that I still have a long way to go.
dear friend, first of all let me send you a big warm hug across the Atlantic.
ReplyDeleteMay I tell you how we choose the flat we live in? It is ideal to raise kids here. Huge playground is just in front of our building. And school and kindergarden are 2 minutes of walking away. I know you can imagine how painful it was to watch all those happy cute little kids. I was thinking all the time, that this just isn't fair. I felt so sorry for myself.
Only after becoming part of Daisy's life (=Daisy is a little 11-year-old girl that I teach English) I started to enjoy seeing the kids playing. It is so lovely to have a special girl (and her sister) who always come to greet me, whenever they see me.
I know that you know... but I still want to tell you that it does get easier.
xoxo
Reminder from those who came before me are always welcome and appreciated!
DeleteIt must have been so hard to live in your flat during the infertility years and those after. The laughter and squeals of playing must have seemed like torture! I can't imagine.
I love that you have Daisy in your life!
Hugs from across the Pacific too.
ReplyDeleteI'll tell you why the tears fell. You were simply reminded of what you have lost. And grieving for that moment, that experience, that you won't get. I think too that watching something like this without the jealousy and longing is emotional too. It means we've said good-bye to those emotions, and therefore to the possibility that we could still experience these things. That's a loss too - it's something big, and understandably emotional.
You've just made me cry again! The way you phrased it makes complete sense. The intensity with which it hit me came as a surprise, but I guess that's normal!
DeleteThanks for the hugs! I'm loving that I have hugs flying in across two different oceans! :)
Mali beat me to it. Grieving and healing.
DeleteI was going to write something similar as Mali. I will add only one thing: I think being able to watch this without the jealousy and the longing is progress in itself. Even if the grief is still there.
DeleteLike Klara, I live in a flat which would have been great to raise kids in. As I type this, I can turn my head to the left and see the basketball field of the school across the street. There are always plenty of kids around. You are not alone in this. We watch and grieve hard. Then we watch and still grieve, but it gets a little better with time... until the day when, hopefully, we will be able to watch and smile.
I am so grateful for wise bloggie friends who can see what I can't!
DeleteOh god I get this thing too... I don't think I feel jealous. Sometimes I'm 100% sure I don't even want any of it. I never want to trade places with parents. I'm OK. But then I get absolutely floored by something that doesn't even have a name and I can't even describe it. I love this phrase "the bottomless bucket of 'what the fuck was THAT?'" I had it recently thinking about never having adult kids; it hit me like a sledgehammer. Most of the time I'm alright, I don't know where it came from.
ReplyDeleteIt's the same thing for me. Most of the time I'm fine. But the few times I'm not fine, I'm usually caught off guard.
DeleteWe live next door to a little playground and have a school at the end of the street....talk about facing our triggers daily!
ReplyDeleteOver the years though, my thinking has gone from “well my kids will never play there” to “it’s nice to see the local kids using the playground”.
Mali said it best... It’s the realisation that these experiences will never happen for us and that we’ve come to an acceptance of it. For me it has decreased, albeit slowly, and with a few hiccups along the way...
Sending more hugs (and wine!).... ; )
Ouch! Thankfully we don't live next to a playground....that would be hard. Thanks for the hugs!
DeleteThat sounds like a painful, touching, and ultimately illuminating experience. I, too, like what Mali said about the realization that we will never have these experiences. I suspect that we will be having realizations like this for the rest of our lives. For instances, although I am only 50, my brother-in-law and wife have 6 grandchildren that they are totally mesmerized with. As a consequence, one of my recent realizations is that I will never have the experience of grandchildren. Maybe one of my realizations should be that the grief will never completely end, it will just change...
ReplyDeleteThat's just it, the grief always changes. I've noticed that mine has changed so much, even just over the last year or so. Thanks for following and commenting! I'm looking forward to following your blog too!
DeleteMali is right. (Although I like how Infertility Honesty put it in her post too, lol.) I remember having a similar moment as I watched our next-door neighbour pushing his toddler daughter in a swing in their backyard. She was giggling and shrieking in delight. I couldn't help but smile -- and bawl my eyes out -- at the same time. Dh gave me a hug & I whispered, "It would have been nice, wouldn't it?" :( (Of course, this was quite a while ago, and she grew up to be a teenager, lol.)
ReplyDeleteThere is something about words that start with f and rhyme with truck.... ;)
DeleteWhat happened with you sounds exactly like what happened with me (minus the part where hubs was around to comfort me). Who knew that eavesdropping could be so painful and so inspiring all at the same time?