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January 16, 2012 · filed under (in)fertility, blog, grief, life

the old me

In redesigning the blog (thank you everyone for the swooning!) I found myself reading through a bunch of my archives. Aside from the normal embarrassment one feels upon reading one’s young and immature diary writings, I couldn’t help but think to myself…damn, I was really happy back then.

There was the time we did six word memoirs. Do any of you remember those? There are some gems in the comments.

There was the time I shaved my eyeball with a razor and ended up with an eye patch (and later with LASIK and 20/20 vision so we can consider it a happy accident).

There was the time my comments got a little crazy when I told you guys the s-e-x-u-a-l poem that Andrew wanted read at our wedding. Good veto, friends.

There was the ordinary Wednesday afternoon that we snuck out of work and got married at the courthouse.

And perhaps my favorite post of all time, writing about falling in love over the course of six Valentine’s days.

There’s more, too. Drunken girlfriend weekends, crafty endeavors, buying a house, beautiful vacations. In 2010 and 2011 the fog of infertility crept up on me. And then a little bit of hope and happiness for awhile, and then the loss. Now I feel like a black cloud follows me everywhere. It shadows all of my thoughts and words. It owns me and I hate it.

One day I’d really like to be a happy person again. If I had to write my six word memoir today, it would be: Things will never be the same.


  1. Abbie
    January 16, 2012 10:56 pm

    Love you Jannie. That is all.

  2. Aly @ Breathe Gently
    January 16, 2012 11:58 pm

    Six words for you: You are such a beautiful person. xx

  3. heidikins
    January 17, 2012 12:55 am

    I want to jump through my laptop and give you a huge hug. And then, I don’t know, do something crafty. Or something crazy. Or even just go get a pedicure and talk for a few hours. Lots of love,


  4. Operation Pink Herring
    January 17, 2012 7:46 am

    Reading your own archives is always so cringeworthy… as is reading your own comments on someone else’s archives! But thanks for linking to those old posts… they were fun to re-read!

    I know you’ll be happy again someday, and I hope it’s soon. But I also hope you know how OK it is to be sad still. We love you no matter what.

  5. Kandi
    January 17, 2012 8:33 am

    It’ll take time, for sure, but I hope you get back to your happy place.

  6. Kandi
    January 17, 2012 9:02 am

    I just re-read some of those pots.. I remember skimming your archives when I first started reading your blog and seeing the razorblade post.. It is funny how I’ve never forgotten that and how extra cautious I am with my razors since then. Reading that post again made me cringe.

  7. Catherine
    January 17, 2012 9:12 am

    You will be happy again some day… are you seeing a grief counselor? If not, I have the name of a really good therapist I can recommend. Just email me.

  8. Janet
    January 17, 2012 9:26 am

    Oh man. I forgot about the eyeball shaving. :) You are awesome.

    I wish for so much love and hugs and comfort for you, every day. xoxo

  9. terra
    January 17, 2012 9:37 am


    I believe one day you’ll be happy again, even if things won’t be the same. You’ll always have the weight of Miller’s passing with you, but the light will still get it and you’ll still find happiness.

  10. jen
    January 17, 2012 10:56 am

    you will be happy again. promise.

  11. Angela Noelle
    January 17, 2012 10:58 am

    Nothing will ever be the same, it’s true, but I know that you will be happy again. It will take time and healing, but be patient with yourself. You are so loved, and you are so strong. I know you’ll get there. xoxox

  12. Nathan Pralle
    January 17, 2012 11:35 am

    The fortunate thing for all of us is that we get to be with you as you go along this journey, experiencing all this with you, and getting to hold you up as much as we can. I can’t physically be there to give hugs or be a shoulder, but if I can be something through this medium, then at least I’m not a lump on a log for a friend in need. And I’m glad of that.

  13. Liz
    January 17, 2012 11:51 am

    I didn’t remember most of those old posts, but did see a comment from me back when I had my old blog. Crazy. Glad you linked them. I love walks down memory lane. Especially happy ones.

    I haven’t gone through what you have, but I remember a time when I didn’t think I could ever be as happy as I was. I’m not someone that can proudly stand here and say I have no regrets in life. Because I do. More than I care to admit. But somehow, after a very long time, things got better. I don’t know if I’m happier than I was the last time I remember being happy, but I definitely appreciate it so much more now. And that makes me happy.

    I guess what I’m trying to say is, you will be happy again. And when you are, you’ll be even happier because you’ve missed that feeling so much.

  14. Brooke
    January 17, 2012 12:50 pm

    I think this, too. But I can tell you that after thirteen months, I am at last starting to feel a little bit like my old self. Like sometimes it shocks me that I lived through the loss of my daughter and my life doesn’t always feel like it’s just hanging in tattered ruins. There’s some guilt along with that, too. But I thought for so long that I would NEVER get close to the kind of light-hearted happiness I used to have. And, no, it’s not really so light-hearted anymore, but there’s still happiness. So I hope you can believe that eventually you’ll get to that place too.

  15. Stephanie
    January 17, 2012 4:45 pm

    There have been a hundred times when I want to say something but I always wonder if a comment from someone who was pregnant at the same time as you will hurt more than it helps. But so you know, my heart thinks of you, Andrew and sweet Miller so often.

  16. Isabel
    January 17, 2012 6:26 pm

    No, things won’t ever be the same again. And that sucks.

    (I am not exaggerating when I say that NOT A DAY GOES BY that I don’t think of you and your eye when I’m in the shower. NOT A DAY! It’s made me a very cautious shaver.)

  17. katelin
    January 17, 2012 6:35 pm

    it’s so fun to go back on old posts and oh man i clicked on some of yours and my comments made me laugh, it also made me happy that i’ve been reading your blog for four years!!

    also, you will be happy again. you really will. i have faith. xo

  18. Lele
    January 17, 2012 7:25 pm

    It can’t always be sunshiny for everyone. The clouds roll in, but one day they will roll out and the sun will come back. Your blog is amazing rain or shine. More importantly, so are YOU! XO

  19. Anna
    January 17, 2012 8:40 pm

    I have a very similar post brewing. I have been looking at a lot of old photos lately and I feel like I hardly recognize myself in them. Things will never be the same again. But that doesn’t mean we won’t be happy again.

  20. Laurel of Sass Attack, RIP
    January 17, 2012 9:22 pm

    You’re the old you and the new you, all at the same time. And somewhere out there, Future You awaits. And we love all three!

  21. Kate R
    January 18, 2012 12:25 am

    Honestly, I actually did the same thing when you updated your look. I went back through your posts as early as 2005. Laughed out loud to see you reference Guapo directly and post pictures of “shots” at your wedding. Your style of writing has always been amazing – you are funny, smart, honest and engaging to read. As you know, I rarely comment, but am always reading. It breaks my heart to hear how sad you are and what you are going through. Hugs from Seattle.


  22. Andrea P
    January 18, 2012 10:59 am

    You will be happy again J. <3

  23. Kelly
    January 18, 2012 3:22 pm

    You break my heart with your raw emotions and beautiful words. Those six-word memoirs are a fluid thing… so keep your chin up and know that there can and will be sunny days ahead. xo

  24. willikat
    January 18, 2012 9:49 pm

    You will get there. You will be happy. Just keep writing. (Love the new design!)

  25. alison
    January 19, 2012 9:17 am

    I can’t deny that things will never be the same. But I know you wouldn’t want to think that Miller would have come into your life without leaving a mark.

    I want to promise you that it will be better but I have no personal experience to make that promise.

    The Janet I know is strong, thoughtful, smart, quick witted, funny, caring, passionate, and… full of laughter. I know the you of before last year would want to see the you of today recover, succeed, and laugh again more. Is there any way I can help you?

  26. K
    January 19, 2012 9:27 am

    There will be a new you.

    One that is stronger even though you didn’t want to be, perhaps saddened a bit easier because of your war wounds and more content because you came out on the other side with your heart and your husband intact.

    I love you, and think of you and Andrew so much.

  27. Meredith
    January 19, 2012 6:39 pm

    It will never be the same, and neither will you. And some day, you’ll be with today as you are with your yesterdays. And then you’ll be happy for the lessons of today, even the ones Miller had to teach in his brief time as one of your life’s instructors. I say a special prayer for you and your family often-with love and hopes for healing.

  28. Alissa
    January 24, 2012 12:17 am

    Oh the things that loss does to us. I wish there were more happy than sad days, but some years are the dark ones and we have to go through them.
    Luckily, we have each other and can lean and vent and write whenever we need to.
    Hopefully the dark days will come to a close sometime soon and we can focus on new and happy times. That is the positive me trying to look toward something good.
    I feel your pain hon.

  29. Michelle
    January 25, 2012 8:39 am

    You are correct in that things will never be the same. You will probably seperate your life memories into two parts; before Miller and after Miller. You will be happy again. It will take time. Words are never enough but hold onto hope! :-)

  30. Melissa
    January 25, 2012 3:19 pm

    Janet, I haven’t checked your blog to say hello in a minute – I love the new design!!!! :) Much love to you & lots of warm thoughts and hope for the new year (un, 24 days late.)

  31. Emily H
    January 28, 2012 10:35 pm

    I have been following your blog through these years….I’ve enjoyed your beautiful writing through the happy times and appreciate your blog in this “black fog” time too. Your honesty and openness is brave, impressive, and heartbreaking.

    I think happiness will find you again but you’ll always have a different perspective. Grief changes us humans.

  32. wishcake
    January 29, 2012 6:10 pm

    It’s crazy how long I’ve been reading your blog. I’m sure I’ve told you this before, but you and whoorl were the two bloggers that I started reading before I even “got” what a blog was (aside from Livejournal…heehee). I’ve loved following your adventures, and I feel like there is a natural progression to the life of a blog (as well as the life of the blogger) that you can’t really fight. Which makes you incredibly genuine, if you ask me.

    The the fact that you’ve chosen to document so many of these things (good, bad, and worse) have touched more lives than you can imagine. I, personally, am thankful for each and every post you write.

    And my wish for you is that 2012 brings all the good things. <3

  33. Vicky
    January 30, 2012 3:06 pm

    I had to go and read that post about you shaving your eye. Lol.
    But you’re right, we will never be the same. Our experiences have changed us, perhaps we are sadder, perhaps we are more cynical towards life, but I like to think that having and losing my little boy has made me a little bit better. A little bit stronger, a little bit kinder, and of course a lot sadder, but that he enriched my life in ways I am still to discover.

  34. redpenmamapgh
    February 1, 2012 11:06 am

    Big hugs. After all those happy things, things weren’t the same either. The black cloud will fade and retreat. Happy things will happen (again) too. You are doing so great, even though you may not feel that way — or even want to.