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The Conclusion "She is brave and strong and broken all at once." — Anna Funder When spoken, it might seem innocent Like any word – just a word Afterall it doesn’t have hands to maim It doesn’t have feet to trample the faith Even though it rests on the tongue In such a way that it freezes the soul It is just a word – no less, no more Just a word But it rises up in my center, breathing Harsh pangs, deafening my hope Pouring out something akin to acid Inside my mind – into my thinking, my remembering It is like an ocean filled with black, bitterness Weeping that gorges itself on my dreams, Resting like fog over the hills of my memories Just a word, playing sharply Biting into my flesh, skin peeled back Layers of aching, throbbing like Grief that never breaks away from its Primary need for misery that is as angry As the shadows that surround it Murky memories unfolding, stirring up the past The heavens open up and pour out souls The unborn who were once given the fate Then, just as quickly, the chance was taken away… Infertility bringing with it – the same shame That remembers only to drench the disgrace In murmuring tears, like small blessings Who drip, melting away the dream, silencing The hope – but giving something new to the soul – Relief from the degradation, the stain That the word barren suggests, The desolate word, the destitute – the infertility Of – not only the dream, but the beautiful In touching the face of belief that flavors every reality The need to see – reflected in that child A smile from the womb who brought faith to life Only a word, but a word that silences the truth I’m not just a woman because of my ovaries I’m a woman because of my hope that believes Even through infertility – I have a purpose That only God could have stimulated within me, A instinct, a intuition, a intention – blessed by the Love of a Creator who gave me hope – Despite the verdict, infertility can’t kill the place inside That believes in the love that only God can provide!
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* For the woman who is suffocating in her need for motherhood, yet cannot grasp it in her hands. Who feels a little piece of herself die each day and cannot recognise the person she has become. Where her first thought each morning is having a baby, and who cries into her pillow each night because it didn’t happen today.
* Robertson, Jennifer. The Injustice of Infertility: A True Story of Heartbreak, Determination and Never-Ending Hope (p. 1). Tellwell Talent. Kindle Edition.
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Letter To My Unborn by Regina McIntosh Written on August 27, 2023 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Though my heart was broken because I never knew you, my unborn, unknown, unfamiliar thought, the one that was much more than an inkling, yet never as familiar as the whisper of a hope. Though I longed for you in this life and never would feel your hand in my own, I would be blessed by children of those who couldn’t see through their own familiarity with fertility to see into the desperation of my own childlessness. I was never one with my dream the way I would have been if I’d only known the beautiful of seeing you born, cuddled and carried gently against my form. Little one, how I longed to see you, hold you, press you close to my heart where there was no doubting the music felt playing in my breast as I sensed the whisper of your tenderness. I yearned for you. I burned for you. I ached and pined and wished. Still, nothing that my spirit craved was brought to life by the labor of my hopes, the formation of your limbs, the delivery of my dreams. You were never conceived. You would never be carried inside me. You would never breathe or play or dream. You would be merely a fantasy secreted within, where the charms of your giggles played softly, murmuring ghostly hunger that would never be filled, a hunger for the joy of holding you close, a hunger for the blessing of love with no conditions, love that is more than big, love that is beyond explanation – it abides, the soul’s tender gift of a baby, a life, a light who shines bright throughout the years. infertility pieces of my heart, falling aching tears – anguish Everything I wanted you to know, the truths, the blessings, the affections. Like dreams pouring out hope and faith, glistening softly, reflections of joy carried into the night on the wings of fireflies – sparkling in the sky, stars who have been waiting patiently for the wish to come true. My wish, it was you. You were there with me when I pressed my lips in a first kiss. You smiled when I knew this love was my answer. You filled my heart with pleasure when I remembered we’d one day meet. But, it never happened. You were never to be. You, my little one, were only a fated desire, a made-up piece of sweetness, a fictionalized caress. You were invented by me because, it is true, I always thought you would, one day, be you. You were the child of mine. You would walk beside me. You would look into my eyes. You would invite me into your life. A pipedream. I ached for it to come true but it wasn’t meant to be. I would never know the one I would have named who? barren, my heart aches trembling from the hope that fades yearnings unfulfilled Would I have raised you to be a light, a smile, a kindness? Would I have given you wings when I yearned to keep you with me? Would I have stifled your dreams or would I have pushed you to be all that you wanted to be? I’ll never know what it means to embrace you or touch you with my song. I’ll never read the joy written on your heart. I’ll never feel the warmth of your love silencing my every doubt. I’ll never know you. It is true that I won’t know you but I must know that there was a reason you were never formed. I know that God has a reason and even though I can’t see, I can know that His wisdom is filled with grace and hope. His wisdom has inspired me to write these words and His wisdom has sent a fire through my soul that is making me whole even though I don’t know you, the little dream that faded beneath the struggles with infertility, the trouble that would haunt me and taunt me and reveal to me the memories of a make believe world I ached for, the make believe world where I prayed for that make believe life. There, in that make believe, lives a child who will never be mine. make believe baby tempting me, that strong craving little one, my dream
This is very moving. Hugs!