Time.

My Dad turned 72 on Thursday.

Two years ago we raced home for his surprise 70th birthday party. We drove 7 hours in one day to go there and back and still be able to make our monitoring appointments for IVF #3. I'll never forget the look on my Dad's face when we showed up--we arrived after the big "SURPRISE!" and my Mom had told him we couldn't come because of the IVF. So he said many times that we were the best part of the day, our making it there.

I am so glad, so grateful beyond words, for that day. For the beautiful presentation Mr. LC and I put together compiling photos from my Dad's life, for the video we shot, for the memory of my Dad, so strong and able-bodied that day, as he talked with his old high school and college buddies. I am glad for the days we got to see my Dad riding his tractor all over his acreage--he always said "a happy man is a man on a tractor." I am so glad for the days we got to go on endless bike rides together, my Dad leaving Mr. LC and I gasping for breath and far behind as he wanted to take us 'just a few more miles.' I am so glad for the work we did together cleaning up after Hurricane Ike destroyed a lot of their trees--my Dad and I trying to figure out how to free a still living tree from the mangledness of a toppled one--him using the chain saw while wearing a J collar while recovering from his broken neck. So grateful for the times we went walking together on their property, the very property my Dad grew up on, where he rode his horse as a boy.

Yesterday, at the age of 72 and one day, my Dad returned home to that place. To his homestead.

No, he won't be riding on his tractor.
No, he won't be wrestling with his dog in the grass.
No, he won't be getting on his mountain bike for a quick ride.

But he is home.

Two years ago Saturday we went to see my good friend Megan's tiny newborn twins in the hospital. My ovaries were aching--full of follicles for IVF #3. We were full of hope seeing those tiny babies. We walked out of that hospital that day thinking that surely, surely that would be us. Finally people would be visiting us in the hospital to see our baby LC. Surely.

The twins turned two on Friday.

How is it that in two years, my Dad can no longer walk and is only a shadow of his former self, we've had three more failed IVFs under our belt and we're still childless. Still hurting. Still no closer to our goal than ever before, maybe even further from it.

How is that a stupid Facebook notice of a pregnancy (Mr. LC has an account, I saw the update) can bring us both down into such a dark place after having a beautiful, wonderful day? When I told Mr. LC what I had read this evening he said that, aside from those pathetic folks on Intervention, we're the biggest losers he knows. He is so sad. I am sad.

The passage of time scares me. I want it to stop, or better yet, reverse.

But time keeps on passing. I try so hard to be mindful, to live in the present, to stop the thoughts about "when we finally..." but most of the time it's nearly impossible. Because infertility waits for no one and it fucks with nearly all of your plans.

I will try to focus on the beauty of this day: church, a beautiful trail run with Mr. LC, a fun lunch out, a great yoga class with Mr. LC taught by our wonderful friend S. A chocolate decadent dessert waiting in the fridge for me right now.

But damn, it all still hurts.