December so often brings feelings of doom and gloom in those of us suffering from infertility or living without children. Family celebrations are so often part of the season, and so difficult for many of us. December for me too brings anniversaries. My two pregnancies happened in December – the surprise, the joy, the anticipation closely followed by heartbreak, and in my second pregnancy, six months of procedures and bleeding and fear I’d never be able to even try to conceive again.
I realised this last week, as I saw the pohutukawa begin to bloom on the 13th anniversary of finding out I was pregnant for the very first time, that I can remember without pain. A slight twinge and sigh of regret is all that hits me, and that is also mixed with the fact that my late father would have celebrated his 86th birthday in early December too.
Oh, I know I could plunge myself back into remembering the pain and the fear and the shock, and rather than just remembering, I could so easily relive these feelings. But I don’t need to do that, and most significantly, I don’t have to fight my brain to stop myself doing that anymore. Remembering simply and peacefully is now possible; I find there is a beauty, a calm, and even a gratitude to it.