"Well, you have four children. You're lucky. You probably should have stopped at one...."
".... it's a wonder you lived...."
".... no more children, not if you want to raise them yourself..."
Suddenly, the words no longer mattered. My world stopped. No more kids. Not in a year, not in five, not ever.
The life I thought I was going to live was snuffed out in an instant.
It's been a few months since that visit. I've shed more than my share of tears. Most days, I think I'm doing pretty good. After all, I live the "American Dream". I'm a mother to four wonderful children. I have a fabulous husband. We have a beautiful home, two cars and a piano.
But I feel like something is missing. Someone is missing.
At the age when most of my friends are just starting their families, I'm moving into the next phase. I'm done having kids. My family is set. I should be happy. I should be at peace... but I'm not. I can't begin to express the turmoil that clutches my soul.
They say that grief expresses itself in stages. I'm just climbing out of the depression stage. Some days I move forward two steps, and the next day, I fall back three.
I feel like my body has betrayed me. Over the last few years, when I kept getting pregnant, I would tell myself, "It's all for a reason.... You'll see why... Give it time." And that was how I coped. That was what I would tell myself so I could get through the day.
Now that I have the reason, I don't like it.
For years, I was in search of an answer. I wanted to know Why. Why is this happening? Why can't we control these things? Why me? Why now?
In one doctor's visit, I got those answers... And in one doctor's visit, my hopes and dreams were shattered. And I was left with even more questions.
Why is this the lesson I have to learn? All my life, all I ever wanted was to have a big family, why did you take that away from me?
Everywhere I look, I see pregnant women. Having their first baby, or their sixth. And it makes me angry. I'm angry that I'll never feel those precious kicks again. I'm angry that I'll never be able to bring home another baby. I'm angry that my body is broken... Because it broke my spirit.
I struggle to find peace. I try to enjoy the moments that I have with my children, my wonderful, beautiful children, that are here with me. But I feel like I've failed them. I failed my husband. I failed me.
So here I am, working through my grief. Hoping that somehow, if I tell my story enough, that I'll learn something. Because I need a reason. I need an answer. and I need peace. I truly, desperately, need to find peace.
