Since Pob was born, the pain of infertility has dissipated somewhat. It hasn't gone completely, partly because in our community the pain is always present so there are constant reminders of how hard it was to get here. Others are still enduring the trenches. Pain similar to the pain we have endured, or tortures worse than we can imagine. There are constant reminders that it hurts, of how much it hurts, of the constant threat that joy can be taken away in an instant. It doesn't take away my joy, it simply keeps me connected to the pain I have felt and the anger I still feel about what infertility took away from us.
I have felt that hurt very profoundly over the last few weeks as the losses mounted up, and as usual I haven't known what to say, known what I can do, what any of us can do except stand by silently and form a virtual circle around those suffering those losses. An author I admire has used language that has stayed with me to describe what I think this community does. It's Christian language, but I get it, I think, anyway. She says that what we do in this situation - all we can do - is to stand by the foot of the cross as someone goes through their own personal Good Friday. Mary Ellen, Steve, Alexa, Scott, I hope you knew how many people were and are standing there with you.