After the Storm

My senior picture and my Mother's Senior Picture. 

Mother's day.  *Sigh*  My heart is so full of emotions I can't even express them.  I boycotted Facebook most of the day, but then realized I have some pretty amazing women in my life and so I needed to celebrate their motherhood and I got on FB.  I was showered with status about being a proud mother, about praising mothers, about what wonderful things the children did for their mother's, yet I still weathered the rain and did what I needed to do, what was right.  Don't get me wrong, I love these women and meant my words of blessings and happiness, but this day is so hard on so many levels.

Here I was, motherless and childless.  A women trying and failing to be a mother.  A women who desires to share these struggles with my best friend, my rock, my hero.  I see all these celebrated mothers and what can I do?  I have wonderful women in my life who truly are amazing.  They, however, are not my mother.  I have children in my life whom I love, they, however are mothered by somebody far greater than me, as I seem to be unfit for motherhood.   

The hard part and the frustrating part is through the struggle of this day, I was deemed silly for having such thoughts.  "You're young." "There is plenty of time." "You have a mother-in-law at least." "Just believe and your time will come."   I applause the effort to cheer a person up, but how can you promise me that I will have a kid by just believing?  Do you want to fly?  Well if you just believe it you will.  What a load of crap.  I know God has the ability to make ANYTHING happen, but that doesn't mean He will.  Yes I may still be young at 26 in the general idea of young, but add infertility to that number and time is running away with each day and so there really is not plenty of time.  Each day I fail to become pregnant is one more day of excruciating pain and sickness.  I don't want more time with that.  I am thankful for my mother-in-law and love her dearly.  She is so sweet, but she isn't my mom.  Shopping for her (since my husband works I do what I can to help him) was a stab in my heart, and violent reminder that I am motherless.  I am childless.

The hardest of all I hold onto deep inside.  I cannot express myself to the people "closest" to me for lack of understanding and for insensitive comments meant to comfort, but instead just add a deeper cut.  The cut is healing, but the wound is still fresh, so I write.  I hide behind a screen and a keyboard.  I use it as a shield to avoid the things that hurt.  I use it as a weapon to fight back against the attacks.  I use it as a comforter and bare my heart, soul, and tears.  I grow stronger and I awake the next day ready to battle whatever may come my way.