Always Be October
October is my favorite month.
You can feel the excitement crackling in the air as people step into to the last three months of the year, breathing in the brisk fall air, marveling at the stunning colors that paint the background of beloved traditions. It’s also my birthday month so it comes with a whole heap of cherished memories for me. I look forward to October all year long.
This year was no different. Especially as we started our IVF journey and were told we could expect to do our embryo transfer right around my birthday. I was so excited. It felt redeeming for me. Last year was a big birthday. I was turning 30, and I still wasn’t a mom. That was never part of my plan. I was sad, scared about more time going by - more time I felt I was losing out on by not being a mom yet. (That’s a whole other story.) But I decided I was not going to let that steal my joy. It wasn’t going to define my 30th, and I was going to celebrate BIG. So, I sent letters to people I love telling them I love them, I was spoiled by friends and family, I went to Disneyland, I jumped out of an airplane! It was a wonderful birthday, my favorite so far. I embraced 30 with open arms. And I was pretty dang proud of myself. But this year… it was going to be the birthday I became a mom. The timing seemed so perfect. Too perfect.
And I guess it was.
Our first foray into IVF ended with zero viable embryos. We spent the thousands of dollars gifted to us and were left with nothing to show for it. I felt completely wrecked by the hormones I’d injected into my body (we’re talking 10 times more estrogen than normal) and the egg retrieval itself. But I had no embryo transfer to look forward to. My favorite month of the year arrived with terrible news and my “redemptive” birthday was a bust.
Things did not go the way I planned. By now you’d think I wouldn’t be surprised. I am well aware that I am not the author of this story. And even though I am trusting that my good Father has it all in hand, it didn’t make it easy. I wanted to reclaim October and my birthday in the way I had last year. And I did my best - we picked apples, watched scary movies, and went to spooky events with our friends. We had fun. Truly.
But I also learned that sometimes we have to share our best moments, our favorite times of year, our birthdays with grief. It doesn’t make them less special, it doesn’t taint them. Which I think was my fear. But grief is an important guest who deserves a seat at the table. He probably won’t offer sparkling conversation, and at some point you’ll think he left, but then he’ll startle you by walking back into the room. Sorry, he was just in the bathroom… for a while. Probably digging around in your medicine cabinet. He won’t leave without getting in a word with you. He’ll keep trying to catch your eye, and when you finally get around to talking with him, you might be surprised that he has valuable things to say. He might impart some wisdom about what you value most or reflect back things about yourself you didn’t know. It will be unexpectedly sweet. And then, because he’s a guest, he’ll leave. He may show up again from time to time - uninvited, of course. But he’s not allowed to move in.
I shared my 31st birthday with grief, and it was hard not to try to shove him out the door, to pretend he wasn’t there. But when I just sat down and talked with him, I realized I needed to hear what he had to say. And I told him he could have a piece of cake. He didn’t ruin my birthday or steal my favorite time of year. Things might have looked and felt a little different, but that’s because I am a little different. And that’s okay too. In fact, I think it’s good. The foundation is still strong and the important truths still stand… like the best month will always be October.
