Finding hope in emptiness…

I saw two absolutely gorgeous girls in princess costumes. My heart leaped with adoration. Then it stopped for a second. Am I allowed to dream about the day when wands and ballets shoes fill my corridor. The day when soccer balls stain my walls. I have never seen so many expectant moms and young children in a short space of time,as I have at my most longing. Is the universe taunting me or am I just more aware because my dreams still haunt me.

I have always been good with children. In fact I believe my life’s purpose it to create better spaces and a promising life for all the little ones I can reach. My studies, even in the arts are directed towards their well being. I am always the first to offer to babysit. Baby showers generate a ridiculous level of excitement inside of me. So with all this, what now?

I believe in God, in his divine purpose, but never have I ever struggled so much to ask him what this plan is all about. All I have managed is a request for calm and a heavenly dose of pain management.

I appreciate and adore my family and friends who have shown up and continue to embrace my struggle and give me reasons to smile.

Recent posts have been pleas with the world to learn the art of not poking at situations that may be sensitive, but till this moment I am asked why in my 4th year of marriage I have nothing to show as far as children go. Why I don’t ‘bless’ my parents with grandchildren. I was always swift in my polite responses,but of late I use every inch of strength to hold my tongue and not sharply ask that you mind your own damn business.

An advocate for adoption,I worry how in this space I can adequately do what Iv always sought to do,which is to love those who never asked to be born and tossed.

Its pretty dark in here. So where do I find hope?

Im writing and posting this as not only a step towards the liberation I seek,but a call to women and men alike to liberate themselves. Allow your heart to speak. Empty your soul,so when new hope is found,it finds a place to settle and bloom.

Her untold story 

Losing a child to miscarriage may be one of the most painful things any woman may suffer. To society, it’s not a true loss because you had never ‘met’ your child or they had not ‘developed enough’. The pain one feels as a coffin is lifted into a hearse, is the very pain experienced. And what’s  worse,is that you cannot talk about it. I mean it is so ‘taboo’ and possibly ‘shameful’ to your family. So you grieve and suffer in silence, whilst people confidently ask ‘so when are you having a baby?’. It is also something we are not educated about. There is something called a missed miscarriage. Your baby passes away but your body doesn’t recognize the death. So you happily continue being ‘pregnant’ until the doctor breaks it to you. You may choose to wait for the baby to pass on its own eventually, or be induced and suffer labor pains only to deliver a lifeless being. The trauma of carrying your lifeless child lingers. Then you must wake up and carry on as usual lest people wonder. Throw away the baby magazines, delete the apps, and break the news to family and friends who really don’t know what to say. Then the choice to get pregnant again comes into play. How do you begin?  Knowing that babies die before you get to hold them, kiss them… How do you process all this in your quiet corner. What do you say to the disappointed faces who’s pockets had begun to shake for your baby’s sake and who’s hearts were just as eager? How do you not think of 10 000 things you must have done wrong, even though science says there is really nothing you could have done. You must then attend baby showers, and babysit, and listen to careless girls toy with the idea of abortion or careless mothers complain about their gift. If only they knew that in a second your life can change. I still pray for every woman who has suffered a loss, early or late pregnancy or even after the child was born. Somebody does understand. Understands that you had named your child and sang to them,and had worked hard to prepare for their arrival. Someone understands the guilt when you consider barren women and others unlucky as this. This may sound petty, but what an enlightenment when the world discovered that Beyonce had had a miscarriage. The most affluent are human too and suffer the sting of death.

No one is seeking pity. Just a release from the solitude. The freedom to celebrate a life that could have been.

The person to tell her story.
Again,be kind to everyone,because you simply cannot know what battles are being fought within.

Acknowledge her strength but love her in her weakness.

Call her mother,she has given life that was cruelly taken away.
Each child is a blessing… A miracle
‘A letter to my unborn child’ she wrote…
Mommy loves you…