And there it is again...

Grief. Just when I almost forget about it, there it is again. I've had a number of those experiences recently. Yesterday was another one. I took my monthly day of solitude at the Montage; it's one of my favorite places in the world. Here are some excerpts from my journal yesterday. I only share this with you to keep it real and normalize the journey for those of you who are still struggling with infertility, of which I include myself.

"Something surprised me as I walked to 'my spot' at the Montage this morn - I've faced so much grief and loss in this place the past 2 years. Walking these grounds. Sitting in 'my bench' triggers the pain I've processed here. Every month for nearly 2 years when I came to this sacred space, my soul was bleeding, crushed, wounded, begging for mercy and relief. So much sadness, wondering, and desperation in those last years in my 20s.

"And now - so much fullness and gratitude. There were days sitting on this bench when I didn't know if there would ever come a day when my spirit would feel light and overjoyed again. The darkness was that overwhelming. It is unlike any other pain from my story. My fullness does not mean the pain has evaporated. It's now a dull irritation more than an all-consuming flood. The pain is now moments triggered by something/one versus an ever-present companion.

"The fullness and gratitude define my life not exclusively because of our Ethiopian babies, not because of the external blessings, but because of the radical transformation in my soul. I am changed. The Montage is a reminder to me of that truth. The Montage is a reminder of healing - my wounds, dashed dreams, exploding expectations, and sin redeemed. The Montage is a reminder of redemption - wrongs made right, intimacy reclaimed, identity reconstructed, hope redefined. The Montage has become a beautiful postcard of my healing path.

"I am broken and healed, emptied and full, expectant and grateful."

Although I could not be more excited and fulfilled that we are adopting 2 little ones, there is still that grief that we cannot conceive. Maybe the only part that's still painful for me is the fact that we might not ever have a little Brian & April. There might never be a little person who's a unique expression of our love and commitment to one another. I'd always dreamed about what 1/2 of me and 1/2 of Brian would look like. Maybe it's still a dumb desire after the miracle of adoption, but it still stings.

So, today, if that pain exists still for you or might exist for someone you love, I hope my story gives you a little more insight as to why. Still healing...

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April L. Diaz

April has been a visionary activist her entire life. She has made it her mission to lead high performing teams and develop leaders in the margins of society while caring for our bodies, mind, and spirit. Secretly, she’s a mix of a total girly girl and a tomboy, and is still crazy about her high school sweetheart, Brian. Together, they co-parent 3 fabulous kiddos and live in Orange County, CA.