The Secret Garden

I have just watched the Carte Blanche story about the abused and abandoned children that end up in our welfare system.  What a wake up call.  There are so many children out there in need of homes and loving parents.

I have contacted the welfare and I am hoping to have had some sort of response by tomorrow morning.  For the first time in six years I can see light at the end of this tunnel.

Anyone (Preferrably South African) who has adopted recently and has contacts or helpful advice, please leave a comment with your contact details or blog name so that we can get in touch. 

Am I giving up on having my own children?  Of course not.  Am I going to delay having a family for another year in favour of treatments that may or may not work?  Definitely not.  I am ready for parenthood.  Bring it on.

I close my eyes… I am in an empty room with high pressed ceilings and dusty lace curtains.  The floorboards creak beneath my feet, and a swirl of dust floats up like a ghost with every step I take.  I feel a little chill run through my spine, and an uneasy feeling of not belonging here seeps through me. On the floor I see torn, faded motifs and pictures that could have come from a nursery - but there was never a cause for that. The pale pink paint is now grey and patchy and bits of it lie in little heaps on the floor.  Suddenly it occurs to me… I am back in my blog.

The last few months have felt like an eternity.  I have shunned everything infertility related.  I have been surrounded by pregnancy and birth, as well as loss and  I have managed to keep a respectable distance from all of it.  I have done a fabulous job of seperating myself from the feelings I have carried with me for so long, that now I almost feel normal. Almost.

Yet there are still questions swilling in my head. Do I go ahead with lap no. 4?  Do I skip begin and just do the FET?  Or should I jump right ahead to adoption….   aaaaah, so many questions and no-one can tell me which adventure will end happily.

Stay tuned for the next gripping episode - which path will I choose?  No-one can possibly know how this will end.

BTW:  This place could use a bit of renovation.

I am so overwhelmed by all the love and compassion in the comments to my last post, about my precious little “fur”baby Amber, who died suddenly and without cause on the 2nd April.  As with all of the sad and difficult times, it was you who got me through it.  When I felt completely gutted by life, you sent me a gentle hug or a prayer.  I am “surrounded” by some very special people, and I am eternally grateful that you share my story and my life, though we have never met.  Thank you for checking back here as often as you do, and for being a constant in my journey.

Life without Amber has been an adjustment.  They say that times heals all wounds, and that is true.  It gets a little easier day by day, although there is a scar, not visible, but as painful as all the others I bear.  We planted a tree of remembrance, so that Amber won’t be forgotten.  Although seemingly cruel, life goes on, and it must.  Life is crazy, it is painful and it is the most beautiful gift.  I have heard it described as a large jar of marbles, each marble representing a day.  Every day we take out a marble and throw it away, it cannot be regained.  And life is like that. Once the sun has set on a day, it is gone forever.  We need to really live each and every day and make the most of the “marbles” we have been given.  Look at the clouds as you drive, enjoy the music, smell the flowers, breathe with purpose. 

We are so lucky to have each other (fellow IF’ers), our spouses, our family, our pets, our neighbours (however annoying), our domestic workers, our colleagues, our friends, our acquaintances.  Everyday that we connect with someone we are blessed. 

We become so wrapped up in our problems that we miss the bigger picture.  I see poverty every day.  The lady who sits on the side of the road and cooks corn in a drum over a fire, with her toddler sitting by her side.  She is there when I drive by early in the morning, and still there when I drive home in the afternoon.  There are people all around me who will never own a car or a real house.  They have to walk across town to use the toilets, or walk 4 or 5 kilometres from the taxi rank to work, and yet we get upset when they are twenty minutes late.  These people greet me with smiles, they never complain.  I am so fortunate, and I am only starting to really appreciate my life for what it is, and what I do have as oppposed to what I don’t.

Amber has indeed left a very large empty space despite her size, but she has opened my eyes to the possibilities rather than the obstacles, and for that I am very grateful.  They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, and now I realise how full and happy my life has been despite all the accompanying disappointments.  Thank you Amber, my sweet little dog, for all the good times.  I won’t forget you.

fam·i·ly [fam-uh-lee, fam-lee] –noun

Family can also be construed as a group who have very close bonds and perhaps live under the same roof.  We might regard some of our blogging sistas as family.  Close friends, servants, even pets can be family.

This week I lost one of my family.

She came to us in the autumn of 2005.  She was no bigger than my hand, bony and shivering.  The runt of the litter, I have to admit that I had no idea what to do with such a tiny bundle of fur.

With lots of love and nurturing she grew stronger. Her little body filled out and her personality emerged.  She was in love with kitty, following her around everywhere and giving her lots of kisses.  She and Jasmine became firm friends despite their size difference.  She crept into our hearts and that is where she has remained.  She loved to be cuddled and was very affectionate.  She warmed the hearts of everyone who knew her, children and adults alike.

Being as small as she was, she could be exceptionally nervous. At least once each year she suffered a serious bout of gastro enteritus, which landed her up in hospital.  She always got better fairly quickly and life went on.

Which is why, when she got a rash on her tummy last Saturday, we didn’t worry too much.  Then her heart started to beat really hard and her face started to swell slightly.  Despite these symptoms she was her usual spritely self, chasing Jasmine around the garden and full of beans.  We took her for a check up just in case, and she was admitted for some basic treatment.  That was the last time we saw her well. 

In the days that followed, her body and face swelled to twice the size, she had to have a feeding tube, drip and a catheter to help her function.  We went and sat with her so she could sleep peacefully (knowing we were there was comforting to her) and massaged her swollen body to try and reduce the swelling.  When we said goodnight to her on Tuesday I was sure I would wake up to good news that she was on the mend and almost ready to come home.  The Hoff and I went to work as usual with a view to visiting her at lunchtime when they were finished with the blood tests.  (We figured that the more we visited her, the quicker she would heal) I got a call at about 9:30am to say that her blood pressure had dropped and she was getting cold.  We rushed back home.

Upon arriving, we were told to wait.  After about a ten minute wait, we were ushered into a room where we were told the bad news.  Our little Amber was gone.  After attempts to save her, her little body gave up and she closed her beautiful brown eyes for the last time.  Our baby had died without reasonable explanation.  When got to see her, she was lying peacefully with a blankie over her.  It looked like she was sleeping.  It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, leaving her there.  It just felt wrong.

Rest in peace little one - I look forward to seeing you again one day, to hold you and rub your tummy and kiss the top of your head.  You went too soon, we weren’t ready and our hearts are heavy and aching.  Our home is empty without you in it.

Amber 2005-2008

I am the gentle showers of rain;
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush;
I am in the graceful rush.

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.

I am the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.