Walking a Tight-rope

It comes.

And goes.

And comes again.

And all the while I know inside that which ever way it is, is completely transient...impermanent...fleeting...

Just like the reason for all of it in the first place.  Transient.  Impermanent.  Fleeting.

On one level, it might be comforting to know that whatever it is we go through is actually only a moment.  A speck.  A flash of reality...or dream.  Something that won't last.  Not forever anyway.

On another level...the fact that nothing is lasting...nothing permanent...nothing even SOLID...well...it bothers me sometimes.

There's the person...the "me"...that wants something I can rely on.  Even if it were to be devastation in my feelings for all time.

Then, there is the person that is grateful that things move forward...onward...ever changing...so that we can heal.  As if...as if we can ever really heal....as if we could ever forget.

As if we want to forget.

My birthday is coming.  I say that with a flat affect.  My birthday is coming.  A reminder of my age.  Or rather...a reminder of the age of my eggs.  The age of my waning fertility. 

My birthday is coming.  I'm not old...but my eggs are getting older.  Older than I wanted them to be if I was still wondering if my family was really complete.

I need time to wonder.  Time to assess.  Time to figure it all out.

Even if it's only time to accept that it's over.  That it all ended with a quadruple stint with death.  Simon's, mine, Alexander's, mine....death...four times...in two months.  Last year at this time I was just coming to terms with the fact that I had had twins, that I was the mother of the twins I'd always wanted.  Always.  And...that I'd never have them again.

So, as I wonder about the yes's and the no's regarding my fertility and the outcome of my family I know we might have another sweet little boy...or a little girl (go ahead...laugh...it could happen....couldn't it??) but most likely...even less likely than having a little girl...we wouldn't have twins.  And even if we COULD...it wouldn't be "them".   So that's really what I have to come to terms with.  If I'd never become pregnant with Simon and Alexander...if my idea that we "were done" had actually played out...would I be thinking I wanted to try once more?  Most likely...no.  And yet, things change.  People change.  Situations change.  Lives change.  Had this all happened 100 years ago I wouldn't have to think about any of it, because having more children would just BE what was...but as my husband reminds me...I'd also be dead, so, you win some, you lose some--right?

Now things aren't so clear.  Now things aren't so solid.  Now...nothing is permanent.  And...in truth...nothing has ever been permanent.

And because of that impermanence...that fluidity...that big question mark in my gut....

I am questioning.  Everything.

I am wondering.

I am crying.

I want someone to tell me what to do.  And I want it to be the right answer.  The one I know I want, but can't seem to find a way to so that I can figure out what it is I really want.  The answer I will feel good about when I'm 98 years old.  The right one.  The solid one.

The one...that makes sense.  On every level.  Materially, Mentally, Spiritually and Emotionally.

The funny..or not so funny thing is this.  There are two sides.  The material and mental...and the spiritual and emotional.  They don't concur.  And so I am divided.  Divided in a world that is fluid, transient, ever changing, and impermanent. 

In the end, what I do or do not do matters very very little in the big schema of our tiny speck of a planet.  My personal choice won't make or break anyone.

Except...maybe me.