It's not that I obsess over our
childlessness, dwell on it, mull it over in my head constantly. It's rather
that it's so hard – probably impossible – to escape consistent reminders of our
infertility. “Triggers,” I guess you could say. Unless I want to cut off all
friendship with women below age 50...unless I want to lock and double-lock our
doors and hole myself up inside...there's no way to avoid daily, hourly
reminders of my lack.
In a phone conversation with a pregnant friend,
it's an effort of will to not think of her happily patting her belly while we
talk...
In the choir, for the second year in a row, I
sit next to a pregnant woman (a different woman than last year). It's an effort
of will to focus on Jesus during mass, look past her bulging belly, and not
grimace when she says, “Oh! The baby's moving!”...
When I walk past the park and see all the
moms pushing their kids on the swings, it's an effort of will to not feel sad
and left out...
When a coworker casually tells me about her
sister's pregnancy, it's an effort of will to give the correct congratulatory
response and ask the right questions...
When Mother's Day ads are on practically
every website I visit an entire month before Mother's Day, it's an
effort of will to say a prayer for my own mother and not feel sad...
In our community garden, our new next-plot
neighbors have a newborn that they bring to the garden. It's an effort of will
not to run away when they talk with other gardeners about how “kids are so great!
Even though they're a lot of work...Sleep? What's that? Ha ha” and on and
on...Please let me garden in peace...
Every month, when the tell-tale cramps arrive
on the day they always do, it's an effort of will to still get up, get dressed,
go to work, be pleasant, not cry, love my husband, smile at people...
On the days when I see irregular bleeding,
it's an effort of will to not curse my body for its reproductive ineptness...
When I'm helping a friend move and have to
pack up baby-sized spoons and colorful toys and board books, it's an effort of
will to offer up my longing for such things, and the child that goes with them,
for my friends and what they need...
When I overhear two friends talk about a
playdate to a park while I was inside at my computer in professional dress,
it's an effort of will to thank God for my job...
I could go on.
All these “efforts of will” get exhausting!
The amount of self-control it takes to just keep going, to “chin up” and
not sob at work...to not dominate every conversation with the perpetual ache in
my heart...to accept again, and again, and again, and again our current
childlessness...to offer up all these pains and pricks to God for the sake of
those who suffer...it's tiring!
How many more years until menopause?
The closest I've ever come to experiencing
such a daily – hourly – mortification of desire was probably a bad breakup I
went through in college. That was no walk in the park. But one big difference
is that at least that heartache had directionality. I knew it was going
to get better, get easier. Once things were finally over, they were over. The
only way was up. It hurt, for sure, but closure meant that healing could come.
Closure is exactly what I don't have, and
realistically speaking, won't have for another 15-20 years. (What's that times
12?) Not knowing how much longer I'll need to exert continual “efforts of will”
to offer up my suffering and not collapse underneath it...that's scary to me.
Infertility is one full-time job I would like to quit right now!!!!
Jesus, I need you.
Jesus, I trust in you.
+EcceFiat+
Those efforts of will are the stuff of saints. The Lord sees every single one of them. Every single choice you make to offer it to Him, and for others. He knows that pain. He knows that effort.
ReplyDeleteI am always praying for you.
It is rare to make it through much of a day without IF somehow inserting itself. Some days are worse than others, but it really does come up every. single. day.
ReplyDeleteSending lots of prayers your way!
Many prayers headed your way!!!
ReplyDelete