Monday, August 24, 2020

Musings on writing

The other day I was thinking about my girls and this blog.

I'm not sure how, and I'm not sure when, but I feel the need to go public when Samantha is older, and has more agency.

On some days I feel incredibly removed from the experiences I catalogue in this diary. The literal pain of Asherman's. The anguish of losing Celine. The anxiety that comes with taking an enormous leap of faith to bring Sammi into the world.

On other days, I look at where I am now, and realize that getting here is in itself a story of enormous hope fulfilled. But I want to be careful. My happy ending wouldn't exist but for a well-timed home equity loan.

But as I get more comfortable with Sammi's origin story, and view it in the prism of my loss story, I realize that maybe we could share it more widely.

So a few nights ago, I realized in the shower (where all my best thinking happens), that this blog needs to be a book. As my ability to update here on this site dwindles to about monthly, I see now that I have a story arc. There is a beginning and there is an end.

I've attempted to write books before. And failed spectacularly because writing is a full-time job, and I already have two of those. But somehow, someday, I'm gonna take another crack at it.

2 comments:

  1. Even if this printed is your book, Sammi can read and re-read how much careful thought went into her creation... How much you love her every cell even though it's not shared with your genes. You "wished" her into existence and you love her as much as Niblet.

    Niblet will read this and see your love for her. Your fear that Sammi would be a different love...

    And they both can feel your pain. They can mourn their sister. They can marvel that good medicine kept you alive with molar pregnancy. They can hear the ache in your heart that somehow you knew that you needed your donor egg to fulfill your destiny. Even that is beautiful.

    I hope my kids can one day know all of the above. You are lucky enough to already have it written. It might be an ackward read but there is no denying that you have chronicled love, pain, heartache, joy, and (most importantly) fulfillment.

    I appreciate your journey and you are just a great lady I have been able to wander along with on my TFMR and beyond. Your daughters will cry with you after your dead treasuring the words written about them. Book? Sure! But the one that is already written is very lovely. Hugs!

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