2015 made sure of one thing. I’ll never forget this year – ever. In just a few days it’ll be 5 months since G has gone. And so many things have happened meanwhile. My niece was born, his birthday came, our anniversary happened, and so many festivals. And now it is New Year’s eve.
Tomorrow a lot of people will write a fresh chapter of their lives. They’ll make resolutions – to keep or to break. Some will be recovering from hangovers and nursing sore feet from a night of wild dancing. There will also be people like me… who will probably not have much to look forward to. Those who’d have lost loved ones like I did. Those whose hopes and wishes have taken a battering at the hands of life. There is no fresh chapter for G&I. The pages of our book have been burnt off at the pyre.
The funny thing is that G&I never made it to even one New Year party in time! We were always either late, or in between parties, whatever the reason – whenever the clock chimed in the new year we’d be on the road. Year after year it was so absurd that it became funny. And then we grew older and I lost a little of the party spirit. I needed to get back in bed and all nighters became a thing of the past. He still had spirit though and he could have gone on if I didn’t keep pulling him home. Well can’t pull him back now, can I? He’s gone far beyond my reach. But I’ll get there one day baby, and then you see!
It’s strange how it’s difficult to see beyond personal grief. I have heard many stories of loss within my circle of acquaintances. I know they must be suffering too. They must be as heartbroken as I am. But I am unable to comprehend it. All I can think of is – what’s going to happen to me?
Some people tell me that 2016 will be better; because what could be worse than 2015? Do they know that I have one more loss in store. I am dreading the outcome of this baby project. Who is to say it’ll work out? If after sparing no effort I don’t get a child, 2016 is going to be worse. People tell me not to pin too many hopes on the baby. And I agree. The practical side of me knows that in a 60% failure rate my chances are not too great. But it’s impossible to not pin hopes on me. I mean if I don’t even have that baby where does that leave me really?
I look normal, I act normal, but I also know that if this doesn’t work out I’m going to collapse. I didn’t when G went, because I still had some hope. What will I have if the IVF doesn’t work? Even now the empty house bites me. The silence is deafening. Nothing moves. Not even a rustle. No one leaves the cupboard doors open anymore. No shoes, socks, shirts litter the living room. No signs that anyone lives there. And no one does.
Sometimes I just want him to open the door and give me a hug. Is that too much to ask?
2016, you had better give me what I want. Too much has been taken away already. Too much!