Photo by Luise and Nic on Unsplash

I Cry for my Unborn

I may never meet you

“The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence. For the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child or friend, we have all manner of words and phrases, some helpful some not. Still we are conditioned to say something, even if it is only “I’m sorry for your loss.” But for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?”
― Laura Bush

I cry my heart out, after finally sitting with the lab results that suggest to me I won’t be able to conceive easily. And even if I miraculously conceive, the odds of sustaining a welcoming environment for a newly developing fetus are slim: I’ll probably miscarry.

It’s not like I planned my whole life around the idea of being a mom, but there was a point in my marriage where that’s all I wanted. It’s all I thought about… until I saw how he reacted to the news of his son (born unto a woman who was not me) but also how he fathered, or rather how he didn’t father. But beside the point, I wanted a baby. Maybe it was me naively thinking a baby would save our waning marriage, but maybe — just maybe — it was me wanting to be a mother to a little…