Posted on by shirindawna

normal girls are boring.

i’ve noticed something about myself. i hold off on writing about health scares until there’s some kind of ending. some neat resolution to wrap it all up in a bow. it’s easier that way, isn’t it? you wait until the answers come, tuck the panic into a little box, and move on with your life. today, i don’t have that luxury. there’s no bow, no resolution. this week has been brutal. we’re stuck in the gut-wrenching space where everything is just…uncertain. everything is a question, and every answer feels like smoke slipping through your fingers. “it might be nothing, but it could be something.” and this time, it’s not me in the hot seat. it’s him. my husband.

people keep saying, “don’t worry, it’s probably fine.” i know they mean well, and maybe they’re right (oh please, let them be right). but i’ve heard those words before. they said it about my dad, and it wasn’t fine. they said it about me, and it wasn’t fine then, either.

so, here i am, stuck in this messy middle, the space between hope and fear, where every second feels heavier than the last. my mind’s racing, and i’m rationing my energy like it’s the last bit of air in the room. i’m careful, so careful, about who i let in. i know one wrong word could send me spiraling, and i can’t afford that right now.

i hate this part. the uncertainty. the waiting. all of it. 

Posted on by shirindawna

addicted to the if only.

i find myself standing at the crossroads, not knowing which path to take. the weight of the decision about another pregnancy feels immense. recently, i found myself back at the fertility clinic, and now, the reality of what lies ahead is sinking in…

there’s a part of me that yearns for another child, another heartbeat to love and nurture. the idea of expanding our family, of watching our children grow up together, fills me with a sense of hope and excitement. i can picture the laughter, the chaos, the endless moments of joy.

but then, there’s the other side of the coin. the fear, the uncertainty, the what-ifs that haunt my thoughts. the journey to this point hasn’t been easy. infertility, cancer, the emotional roller coaster—it all leaves scars, seen and unseen.

…sitting in the clinic, the sterile smell, the quiet hum of machines. the doctor’s words were a mix of optimism and caution. it’s possible.

there’s a risk.

there’s a chance.

there’s no guarantee.

and so, i’m conflicted. my heart and my head are in a tug-of-war. do we risk the heartbreak, the potential for more pain? or do we hold on to what we have, cherish the life we’ve built, and accept that it might be enough?

sometimes, i wish for a clear sign, something to point me in the right direction. but life doesn’t work that way. it’s messy and uncertain, and sometimes, there are no clear answers.

weighing the pros and cons feels like trying to balance on a tightrope. i think about our past struggles, the tears, the sleepless nights, the endless waiting. can i put myself through that again? can i put us through that again?

yet, there’s that small, persistent voice inside me, whispering about possibilities, about hope. it reminds me of the strength we’ve found in each other, the resilience that’s carried us this far.

so here i am, at this crossroads, feeling the full weight of the decision. it’s not just about another pregnancy; it’s about our future, our family, our dreams.

as we navigate this uncertainty, i remind myself to breathe, to take it one day at a time. whatever we decide, it will be with love and hope at the core.

maybe the answer will come in a moment of quiet clarity, or maybe it will be a series of small steps leading us to where we’re meant to be.

for now, i hold on to the love we have, the strength we’ve shown, and the belief that, no matter what, we will find our way through.

Posted on by shirindawna

why didn’t i meet you sooner?

today while going through some old writing, i discovered that i had jotted down a little snippet of conversation that occurred several years ago while out at dinner with an old flame.

like most things i find amusing, i decided to share this tidbit with my current boyfriend:

waiter: how is everything?

me: my dad died.

(dirty look from my old flame.)

me: he said “everything!” not just the food.

naturally this facilitated a chuckle from my (real-time) boyfriend (he’s as funny as i am).

which prompted the subject question thought…

Posted on by shirindawna · 2 Comments

good grief.

it’s been almost three years since my dad’s death, and most days, i’m happy.

truthfully, i’m undoubtedly happier than i’ve ever been…which makes my next admission seem a bit ridiculous. in light of my ‘happier than ever before’ feelings, (there might a boy involved..a dream of a boy, in fact – one that i had hoped existed, and am beyond grateful to discover truly does), there also exists a slight melancholy. it’s dim, it doesn’t take away from the magic of what I’m feeling right now (which is so sickeningly sweet…)

it seems so silly: wanting more when i already have exactly what i want. and have wanted. which leads to (inevitable) feelings of guilt. i am so fortunate. in SO many ways…and still, this one thing – bigger than words – is always missing.

i accepted my new normal years ago and love my life and i do my best to live it for what it is. and it’s pretty amazing.

…and yet there are still moments when i break down crying (or want to), and there are times when i want to scream about how unfair it all is.

being used to something doesn’t mean it’s always easy. and those who love me understand these moments may forever be a part of who i am.

most of the time i just miss him. i don’t feel sad or unhappy, i just feel a void. i picked up a postcard on my last international adventure and said “i’ll send this one to my dad.” the thought was out of my mouth before i was able to process and subsequently, stop it.

i sheepishly set the postcard down…

my dad is still the first person i want to call when i gaze at the moon or see a sky full of stars. he’s the one i want to talk to when i meet someone i can imagine spending my life with… my dad is the person i want to complain to when my brother and i bicker (his fault, naturally).

suffice to say, he is missed.

now, my dad wasn’t a perfect man.
he was awful at giving straight answers.
he applied the laws of physics to practically everything.
i am pretty sure there are places where his photo is up…and not in an honorary/good way, but because if he walks in, someone is supposed to alert security immediately.

no, he wasn’t perfect. he raised his voice from time to time (never at me); he got annoyed when i played with glitter (because it ended up everywhere); he didn’t get me a barbie dream house (the largest tragedy of my childhood existence). there was advice he gave that i probably didn’t need, and other advice that i wish he had shared…

so, he wasn’t a perfect man. so what?

for me, he was the perfect dad, and there’s nothing i wish he’d done any differently expect perhaps linger a little longer on this side.

i remember him imperfectly and completely.

…because it gives me hope. maybe someday someone will remember me the same way i remember my dad?
perfect in his imperfections.

as my third year without baba rolls around, i realize i will probably always miss him.
and even more around the holidays…

i’m learning that grief is ongoing. i may never stop grieving over the loss of my pop-sicle because i continue to love him. acknowledging that is somehow validating. and i’m accepting that there will still be moments amidst the happiest times in my world when the memories and the tears come.

grief knows no depth. as an emotion, it is perfect ~ if you’re bold enough to describe perfection in this light – i am. to some that may sound morbid. or even, depressing. but those of us that know this “perfect sorrow” understand.

you are perfectly, exquisitely sad when you grieve over the loss of someone close to you.

grief, sorrow, and sadness are like any other emotion; you feel it, you let it move through you, then it moves on and out of you.

the burden of feeling a certain way, because it’s more comfortable for others, is just too enormous for me. so i let myself feel whatever it is i’m experiencing without any resistance.

the good news is: allowing yourself this freedom to feel without resistance, allows you to feel the profound joy that is the other side of grief. that’s just how the equation works. the memories of joy and grief go hand in hand.

…that silver lining, it’s always there.

and maybe you didn’t get the barbie dream house because you’re lucky enough to live the dream in real life…

Posted on by shirindawna

slowly at first, then all at once.

i have learned, and am still learning, that things don’t always happen the way you think they will. or the way you expect. or sometimes, the way you wish they would…

and in my lessons, i have been taught time and time again that there is always a perfectly good reason why.

i never believed in love at first sight.

i certainly wasn’t expecting to find it…

and yet, yesterday i was struck.
it was intense.
it was immediate.
and it was incredible.

never before have i felt so much emotion and (simultaneously felt) completely at peace. it is a heady combination.

and i am enamored.

…all at once.