Maybe Next Year

The sunrise this morning marked the close of another year. You had high hopes that this year, this day would be different. You wished on every star that this morning you would be awoken by a small kick from the little one growing inside you. You would get up and your husband would have breakfast waiting on the table. You would find the flowers and the card he picked out late last night because he’s never had to do this before but he wanted to make sure this first one was special.

You would get ready for church, having to wear that cute dress you’ve been saving for the day you’d finally have a bump to show off. The pastor would speak about the infamous mothers in the Bible…Sarah, Rebekah, Mary. Children would hand out flowers to all the mothers as the congregation left the sanctuary, and for the first time, you get one.

Your husband would drive the two (three) of you over to a family members house for lunch. People would rub your belly and gush over your pregnancy glow, making bets on ‘blue’ or ‘pink’ and lobbying for their favorite names. You would roll your eyes as your aunt pushes for some ridiculous family name for the 300th time. But deep down your heart is bursting with joy. These are the moments you had longed for for years. Every doctor visit, every procedure, every poke, prod, shot, and blood draw was necessary to get you to this point. You did it.

But that’s not how this morning went, is it? You laid in bed waiting for your alarm clock. No need for it, you had been awake for the last hour after another vivid dream of a little one kicking in your belly woke you. The sunlight peeks around the curtains as you pull the covers over your head. You’re not ready to face the day, especially not this one. There’s a deep emotional ache that you can’t seem to get rid of. The pain is almost palpable that it’s keeping you from falling back asleep so you grab your phone to make a post about your own mother. You scroll through your newsfeed looking at the pictures of everyone with their moms and their own children, reading the exclamations of love. You come across a different kind of post, someone excited to announce they’re celebrating this day for a whole new reason this year. You’re happy for them but immediately click ‘unfollow’, adding them to the list of friends whose pregnancy posts and baby pictures are just too painful.

You pull yourself out of bed to head downstairs for breakfast even though you’re not that hungry. Sitting on the table are the card and flowers you bought for your mom late last night because even though this day is incredibly hard, you still want your mom to know you love her. You had planned on meeting family for church but are considering cancelling... too many triggers at church like when they hand out the flowers and once again you don’t get one. In fact, there’s probably a pretty good chance you won’t leave the house at all today. The past year was full of doctor visits, procedures, pokes, prods, shots, and blood draws and all you have to show for it are scars and a broken heart.

Your feelings of pain and guilt, shame and sadness are valid. They’re real and they are understood. Not by everyone, but I get it. And although it feels like you will drown in your tears before you find happiness, know you’re not in this alone.  We are warriors, some of the strongest people will ever know. And tomorrow we’ll pick ourselves up and press forward with the hope that maybe next year this day will be different... 

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