Dear Childless You,
You just found out that you and your husband can’t have children. You’ll try not to think about why or place blame because that’s how you cope with a tragedy borne of genes and biology and plain old bad luck. How can you be angry at anyone when it’s no one’s fault? Certainly not your husband’s. Certainly not yours.
You’ll be blinded by tears that’ll sneak up on you when you let your guard down — primal sobs that make it difficult to see or breathe or even know how you’ll go on living because all you’ve ever wanted with your whole heart and for all of your life was to be a mother.
You’ll hide in the basement so your husband doesn’t hear you crying. You’ll cry in your car and at work, and once you’ll even start crying in the middle of a long, long run and have to stop beside a half-dead tree to reign in your sobs before you can make it the rest of the way home.
But eventually, with time and love and countless conversations, you’ll find another way — a path that you couldn’t have imagined when you started. You’ll decide to adopt.
You’ll write a letter you hope will convince someone to choose you and your husband as parents for their baby. You’ll fill out paperwork on your finances, your employment, your health — even your psychiatric history. You’ll endure interview after interview about your views on child discipline, the state of your marriage, and how much you have in savings. You’ll turn your introverted, private self into an open book. No topic will be off limits, too sensitive or too painful.
And then, you’ll wait. You can’t imagine now how hard the simple act of waiting will be. It will test every reserve you have. It will test your marriage. It will test your tenuous faith in God and all that is good.
But one day, three years and five months after you began waiting, your husband will burst through the bedroom door, phone in hand, gesturing frantically and shaking you awake.
He’ll tell you a birthmother has chosen you at last. Your baby will arrive just five weeks later.
Don’t give up, childless you. Don’t ever give up. The son you were meant to have will come to you down a dark, twisting, painful road, but he’ll be there at the end, stretching his chubby arms up to greet you, growing bigger and wiser and more loved every day and whispering into your ear each evening as you tuck him into bed — “I love you, Mommy”.
Thanks to Bebe Nicholson for the prompt.