On the way to meet with my counselor* this morning, I started getting irked that I was on Day 7 of listening the local NPR fundraising campaign. As much as I love NPR—and contribute—for some reason the pledge drive always ticks me off. It doesn’t help that the NPR peeps in Nashville just aren’t as good at a pledge drive as OPB is. They make corny jokes (just think of it as amping up the nerd factor a little more than normal) and quasi-connections that only quasi-inspire me to want to pledge.

But first . . .

My brain has been doing some strange things and taking me on confusing and unexpected journeys these last few weeks. No rhyme or reason for some of it, at least that I can tell. As I turned the corner at a stoplight this morning and the NPR announcer mentioned their great pledge gifts for supporting Nashville Public Radio, I suddenly remembered one of my favorite pledge campaign gifts of years ago from Oregon Public Radio, a really cute travel mug that I loved to pieces (lame, I know).

And then a memory came flooding back.

Several years ago, after surgeries and failed efforts to conceive, even with fertility meds, my doctor felt an IUI might be successful. I started on hormones and got my hopes up. I mean, really got my hopes up. I had been through a lot medically and physically, and my heart . . . Well, my heart was trying not to be broken about this unfulfilled dream, but it had been difficult to stay positive. The IUI was scheduled for the week before our cross-country move to Tennessee, not intentionally, just the way the timing worked. My mom had come to town to help us pack and say goodbye (*sob*), so she went with me to the ultrasound appointment where they would count the follicles and tell me I had the most perfect baby-making eggs they had ever laid eyes on. Next step would be to visit my OB and get the appropriate hormone shots to release the eggs, and the procedure would happen the following day.

Mom and I were acting silly that morning and were both terribly excited, although I think each of us kept under wraps how giddy we really were. As the tech did the ultrasound and pointed out follicles on the screen, I asked him jokingly if my egg makers would be getting a gold star (ever the overachiever). He got a look on his face. You know that look. I’m sure you’ve seen it before. It’s the look of bad news. He left the room, and when he returned, he told us that I had hyperstim and that my body had produced too many follicles. It wouldn’t be safe to inseminate. I was to stay on modified bed rest to prevent any of the follicles from rupturing (try doing that while packing all your earthly possessions and saying goodbye to your home and community and all the people you love).

And that was the end. All my hopes pinned on a procedure that never happened.

My mom and I went home, me numb and still clutching the bag of hormone injections I would never get to use. We finished packing the house, I said goodbye to my loved ones, and we drove across the country to Tennessee. I never cried about it. About that loss. And it was a loss. The dreams of years, this hope above hopes, had hinged on the procedure being successful, as I was not a candidate for any future rounds of Clomid. And the no, this will not happen came in the middle of some of the most painful moments of our lives—losing our home, our place, our network, our dreams.

Amid the hurried exit from the ultrasound office that morning, I forgot my tea-filled travel mug. That favorite little OPB mug.

I haven’t thought about that in two and a half years. And I really haven’t thought long and hard about the IUI that never was . . . all the pain that has followed in the years since. It might be time to cry about it and grieve that sadness I chose not to acknowledge at the time.

I’ve been working to reconcile some things before my birthday next month, to address/deal with things that have troubled me, peace that needs to be made, wounds that need salve, forgiveness that needs to be given, apologies that need to be made. I didn’t even know this was one of the things on that list.

I didn’t have time to tell my counselor about this, but I told her about some of the things on that list. She said the power is mine (and God’s) to find peace and to take control of the future and how I respond to loss and hope (sometimes you need just as much help learning how to hope as learning how to mourn).

It’s so lame, but I made a pledge to Nashville Public Radio as soon as I got to work this morning. It has nothing to do with any kind of recovery for me, but it just felt right. They’re sending me a reusable grocery bag. Whoopee. But it feels a little like full circle. And I wonder if that dumb bag could have memories attached to it one day, maybe even happy and amazing memories that I could be reflecting on a year from now with wonder and hope.

*Of the many things I’m thankful for this year—and there are many—finding an awesome counselor is near the top of the list. She doesn’t take any crap from me; she encourages me to face with my issues and fears; she champions to reach for possibilities. That’s some good stuff right there.