The price of love

Now

It's occurred to me that perhaps I should let my hair grow back out so I never have to go back to the hair salon. Seems like a good reason, right.  It would save me money, after all, since keeping a short style requires frequenting the salon every four to six weeks. (I used to go to the salon about once every 18 months.)

Anyhow, I like it short and think it suits me, but I always dread going to the salon. It's the questions they ask and the jibber jabber that I so dislike.  The worst was last time, when the lady repeatedly insisted I had two kids, a boy and a girl - and I had to repeatedly insist back that I don't and that no I never told her that.

Then I sat there like a lump trying not to cry through the whole hair cut because that's how ridiculous I am. So this afternoon, I went ahead and made myself sick just thinking about it again - even though I wasn't even going to go back to her again. After all, who knows what crazy thing someone will say to me next?  I wish these things didn't bother me so. But then I wish oh so many things.

On the bright side, I do like my hair, and the worst the lady today said was, "So... like, tell me about your hair."   To which I replied, "Well, um... I don't know - I've had it about 43 years, it grows out of my head, and um... I need it trimmed up." Okay, I didn't really say that, but I was thinking it.

Tell me about your hair....   Brother Bob!

Week 38 of Photo 52: Eyes

Anyhow, after that I kept my eyes fixed solidly on Words With Friends to lessen the possibility of difficult questions.

For some reason it's the hair and dental appointments that are the worst. The questions and comments without means of escape. Then again... why can't I just get up and walk away?  I don't know.  I wondered about that after the appointment with the woman who repeatedly insisted I have children, despite my protests - I could have just left. It might have seemed weird or rude, but I wasn't actually trapped. I often feel trapped. Maybe if it happens again, I'll have the strength to just not torture myself.

Ah well. This is the way it is. Hair appointments cause me tremendous nausea inducing anxiety. I wanted my hair to be pretty before our anniversary tomorrow though, and I'd gone way too long in between appointments because of my dread.

It's okay though. It is.

Then tonight I read a blog post about grief and infertility, "The Loneliness of Grief."  It feels so good to be got.

“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming.  All we can do is learn to swim.”                 (Vicki Harrison)

And this:

“Grief never ends… But it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith… It is the price of love.”

The price of love.

Tomorrow R and I turn nine years old and we will celebrate the amazing blessing of marriage love, as we look forward to - hopefully - many more years of happily ever after together. Every morning when I awake, I wonder more and more about this amazingness that has been gifted to me. I am so thankful. With that comes the growing loss of knowing how very much we wanted to have kiddies. Oh so very much.

Indeed, this tremendous grief is the price of tremendous love.

It truly is overwhelming so much of the time, as if the waves are pulling me under and I just keep struggling and struggling for air and solid ground. It felt like that again this afternoon, but no one at work knew, of course. I've gotten good at making sure they don't. As the blogger writes, "And the hardest thing about grieving, the absolute worst thing, is that it feels as though everyone wants you to forget." Fortunately, R does not make me feel that way - my cutie - but it largely does feel that way otherwise.

The loneliness of grief. The price of love.

Even so...  I'll never - ever - regret the tremendous love. Tomorrow, we will celebrate all of our tremendous love: the good, the bad, and the ugly. It's all part of the story of us.

And then!
October 14, 2005