Obviously as the world goes on, my has yet to move forward. I've been having some thoughts with my current
Hope.
How you have deceived me.
Why do you haunt me?
Why won’t you leave me alone?
Over the years Hope has grown into a Villainess
That taunts me
And makes me think my dreams will
come true
And makes me somehow believe that
this isn’t the end
and that my wish will come true
That my prayers will be answered
She makes me think that somehow,
someday, someway
Then Hope, that sneaky thing,
hands me the very thing I was waiting for
On a platter
Wrapped in beautiful shining
paper, with the most beautiful bows you have ever seen.
One bow is blue.
The other pink.
And they are alive.
I begin to embrace Hope as my
best friend
She has finally allowed the horse
to reach the carrot
She has finally allowed Leprechaun
to reach the pot of gold.
She curls up by the fire with me and we relax for once together.
instead
of half trust her that this is real.
Before I know it the lights flash
and my world has been shattered.
I search around blindly in the dark screaming for Her
Tears rush down my face faster than the fastest river and I call to Her
Despite the diagnosis I believe this can be turned around.
I try to grasp to Her as tightly
as I can
But at the doctor looks into my
eyes and says in the saddest tone I have ever heard
“Can I break your sac of water?”
Hope for the first time leaves me
completely alone.
As the waters pour out of my
body, leading to the imminent death of my
Ever-so-longed-for-ever-so-prayed-for-ever-so-deeply-insanely-loved
son,
His water’s puff out the last
tiny glimmer Hope had left in that god-forsaken room.
In those horrific hours I was
relieved that I had lost Her. Finally I
could move on.
Been beating through his veins
but stopped to short by the impact of labor.
I stared at him speechless.
My husband beside me.
The entire earth quiet as we
looked down at what we had been allowed to create together.
And there She was.
We did NOT invite Her in.
She came back without permission.
My tearstained husband said to
me:
“He is so cute. He would have been so cute.”
I always imagined Hope to be soft
and gentle and sweet and subtle.
But that’s only when She is
playing Nice.
In times like these She is
violent. She is loud. She is aggressive and She grips with a strength
that takes away your breath.
Without warning, She grabbed my
husband. She dug Her fingernails deep into his skin. She sprang into his soul and
possessed his mouth. He said
“This makes me want it more. We are so close.”
8 failied IUIS. 3 IVFs.
4 Dead babies and we are holding one that is just 21 days away from a
place he could survive. But we are
holding him.
Before I could get in the
defensive position and block my own
logical senses, before I could stop Her, Hope possessed my own soul as well.
Without warning that small flicker of a candle reappeared.
In what cruel world does Hope
enter the room as we hold our dead child?
In what cruel planet does
something keep teasing you, and following you, and attacking you to keep on
going when so many things have gone wrong?
She is heartless and stops at
nothing.
They say Hope does not disappoint
us but I have never experienced disappoint at the level I did that day.
That cold day that I was in the
labor and delivery suite laboring and delivering my stillborn son just 3 weeks
after doing the same with my daughter.
I am so bitter towards HOPE
because she has brought me so high and without warning dropped me on cement. She stood back and let the birds eat at me as I lost my heart. Twice.
I am so scared of Hope because
when you finally become friends with Her there are still no promises.
I am so frustrated with Hope
because I can’t shake her. Even after
these insane losses with insane fertility treatment I’ve taken 2 pregnancy
tests (negatives)because I myself have slowing become insane and Hope tricks me
into thinking maybe.
Although I’m speechlessly angry
at Her, she is winning this battle because we haven’t fully chosen to give up
on Her.
If Hope is alcohol, We are an
alcoholics.
If She is a drug, we are addicts.
If She is song, we are signing.
If She is a poem, we are
reading.
But the innocence of a heart that
has never been broken is long gone.
We don’t look at her with naïve, longing eyes anymore.
We stare at her with a cold expression. A guarded, cold, sterile look.
But we are strong.
We remain eye contact with Her.
We look Her in the face even
after what She has done to us.
And though we may be fools, as we
move forward with this fight,
We whisper “maybe. We hope.”
