Year of the Rabbit

This was written at the beginning of February...

On February 3rd, the Chinese rang in a new year - the Year of the Rabbit. I've never paid much attention to the Chinese new year or the Chinese zodiac, other than the passing news story or perusing the place mats at Chinese restaurants. But this year - the Year of the Rabbit - caught my eye for several reasons.

While I was pregnant with Lily, I saw a little bunny outside my office practically every day. When I would leave work, the bunny would scurry off the porch. Our building is a converted 19th Century house. As I walked down the steps I would see the bunny scramble to safety under or near my car. He would dash out from my car just as I got closer and disappear behind the neighboring apartment building. The first time I saw him, he scared me just as much as I scared him. But soon after I would get excited to see him.  In my "everything is perfect" pregnancy haze, the bunny was another thing to look forward to. A sign of a happy spring.

Our spring wasn't happy. We lost Lily on May 9th. After I returned to work after her death, I never saw the bunny again. It's possible my haze of grief shielded me from seeing him. But I really don't recall seeing him at all over the summer.

He resurfaced in the winter. One day in December, as I was leaving work, a much older, bigger rabbit hopped calmly away as I opened the door and stepped onto the porch. He hopped over to the snowbank piled high in front of my car. I fully expected him to scurry away when I opened and shut the car door, and certainly when I started the engine, but he didn't. He watched as I pulled out and when I looked back at him, he had propped himself up on his hind legs and watched me as I disappeared out of the driveway.

About three days later, being the wonderfully domestic wife I am, I ordered Chinese take-out for our dinner. It is typical for our favorite Chinese restaurant to include a new calendar with every order in December. Usually though we throw it out because it includes pictures of scantily clad Asian women. To our surprise the 2011 calendar was one designed for the Year of the Rabbit. Several animated bunnies comprise the artwork for this year's calendar.

Surely, these were good signs! First, the office bunny re-appears.  Second, 2011 is the Year of the Rabbit. Rabbits are the sign of fertility. They symbolize spring and rebirth. They seem to be a sign of hope. If 2011 was dubbed Year of the Rabbit, then it must mean good things for me.

Here's hoping....

Focus on the Positive... UGH.

"Be more positive" is commonly told to me these days. In emails, calls, and face-to-face conversations, everyone is encouraging me to focus on the good things in my life. "You have a great husband."  They remind me of my opportunity for a fresh start. "It's a new year, a new beginning, so focus on the positive."

Don't they realize I would if I could? I don't want to be this person I've become recently. I don't want to be bitter and angry. I don't want to wake up sad. I don't want to feel intensely jealous of pregnant women. I don't want my immediate reaction to someone telling me they're expecting to be tears. I don't want my heart to sink every time someone gushes about their child. I don't want to think "blah" when a parent expresses their joy about parenting.

I don't want to be a woman whose baby died.

I don't want to worry that Lily could have been my only chance at having a daughter. I don't want to fear she could be my only shot at having a child.

I don't want to feel this way. Not at all.

I'd much rather feel excitement for the future. I'd rather feel joy in seeing babies and small children. I'd rather laugh with them. I'd much rather be the girl who is having everything fall perfectly into place. More importantly, even if it was not, I'd like to be able to feel optimistic for the future.  I'd like to have the ability to hope for the best.

But I can't.  Not right now.

I have no control over my emotions these days. I can have a good day quashed by a simple memory of Lily's death. I can be walking happily along and stop dead in my tracks when I overhear a child say "Mommy." A joyful look through Lily's pictures can turn into a flood of tears in an instant when I suddenly remember I never looked at her back. Panic can set in when a fun discussion with other BLMs about our children reveals I didn't memorize every detail of her (even though I tried!) and can't remember every moment of my pregnancy with her.

I can't make myself focus on the positive. It's exhausting enough to get through the day. "It's only been 8 months!" I want to scream. In the aftermath of this trauma and loss, I think I've earned the right to feel a tad negative. Not forever. Just for now at least.