Replacement Therapy

I have a beautiful garden. I mean, it's a really nice garden. It is chock full of seedlings that are now huge after I bought and put them in the ground. It has seedlings that sprouted from seeds I put in the soil and grew myself. There are even seedlings from seeds I planted in starter pots and then transplanted to the garden soil--again, all by myself.

This garden is going to feed our family and friends this year. It will provide sustenance and nutrition. It will reduce my carbon footprint by a ridiculously small amount (had to drive to get the dirt, etc.). It produces tasty additions to foods I prepare, and even makes for cat happiness.

I also have a lovely new kitten. She came to us at 11 weeks old, and so tiny she fit onto our shoulders. She's growing. She's tenacious, and bold, and curious, and adorable. She grooms my face (the raspy tongue hurts so good!), and winds around my feet, and looks for me if she thinks I'm gone. She makes messes and drives the other cats nuts and terrifies the dogs. She provides hours of entertainment and worry equally, and takes up tons of time through vet visits and training and cuddling and feeding and rescuing from the other cats. She is a beautiful addition to our family, and I love her.

As odd as it seems, these two things are providing me with a deeper sense of both being able to produce and to nurture. Those things I miss so dreadfully every day. As I put the seeds into the ground, I found myself thinking of them as embryos (I put in several for each hole, just in case!) and would lovingly cover them with the soil of earth's womb as I wished for them to grow. As I hold Fizgig in my arms while she sleeps I can feel how much she trusts me, and how attached she is to me. It's almost like I have found a way (at least temporarily) to fill a hole in my heart and soul.

And even more oddly, now that I'm going to try to do another cycle (after having the last 2 canceled) I find that suddenly I'm able to hold hope once more. I'm not so focused on how horribly empty and meaningless life is as I contemplate the emptiness of my womb. I don't look on in envy so painful it causes me to constrict around myself in an effort to protect, all because I see someone else holding what I have repeatedly been denied or had stripped from me. Instead, I find I can go and look at my garden, or hold my kitten, and know I'm both needed and connected to the earth and my family.

It's an odd sort of haven, but it works for me in the here and now. And for the first time in a long while, I feel like I can look ahead with something other than an empty heart. It's a strange sort of comfort, but the garden green and kitten soft are a balm to my soul.