Six weeks and peace remains...
>> Sunday, September 11, 2011
It's been six weeks since my world changed. Since I knew concretely that I would never "just get pregnant". That I would never surprise my husband in some cute way with news of a late period and expected child (yes, I admit that in the first few years of TTC I used to think up cute ways to tell Kevan we were pregnant, ie. clues around the house, baby clothes in his dresser, etc). After our appointment with the Urologist, I knew that for us to ever have a child it would take thousand's of dollars, hours of prayer, and science that I would never completely understand.
For the past six weeks I have been grieving the loss of what I thought our family would look like. I have been coming to grips with what our future may entail, although I admit that we have yet to make any decisions about what path we will take to have children. However, I've decided that the strangest thing about the past six weeks, is that I have almost completely forgotten about the actual doctors appointment. I don't replay the conversations in my head, I don't google for other treatment options, and I don't overanalyze why we couldn't have gotten different news from the MD. Since I returned from Knoxille, I have simply been okay with our inability to conceive naturally and I have been consciously struggling to stay immersed in the peace that God provided me in the aftermath of that appointment.
On that note, let me back up...
The morning after our urology visit, I woke up in a cabin with swollen eyes and a heavy heart. The other house guests were sleeping in, so I got up with my sweet husband who had held me six hours earlier as I cried myself to sleep. It was quiet in the cabin and I could feel the tension between us as we fixed cereal. Did yesterday really happen? Can our marriage handle this? What do you say to make it better?
So, as Kevan settled into the screened in porch with his coffee and a book, I headed out for a morning walk with our dog. What better companion than the one who can't talk and always seems to understand how I am feeling? We started down the gravel road which runs around the perimeter of the lake. I needed to be alone that morning. The ache in my heart was more significant than anything I had ever felt and the tears were unstoppable. It all felt so overwhelming, like there was no room in my head for any other thoughts, yet I seemed powerless to make sense of the information that was swirling around. I wasn't even reviewing the appointment or the words of the urologist, I was simply grieving. I was ruminating on the idea that we would never get pregnant on our own. That every child would have to be planned, thought out, pros and cons would be weighed, bank accounts would be emptied, and we would have to make a heavy decisions just to "try" to get pregnant. It is just not what I wanted and not what I planned for my marriage, my future, and my children.
But as I walked and cried, I did the only thing I know to do in times of despair...I prayed. I cried out for God to wrap his arms around me, to take away the pain, and bring me peace. I told Him that although I would need His guidance in the future as to how we should proceed, all I wanted today was peace. For the Holy Spirit to wash over me and bring a peace to my heart that would surpass all human understanding. I wept on the banks of the lake while I watched the sun gain height over the water. I took deep breaths and every time I thought I could begin the walk back, I would collapsed in more tears and desperation.
I wish I could say that then, finally, in one bold movement, God spoke to me... but that isn't what happen.
Instead I slowly ran out of tears and slowly the jumbled mess in my brain began to form real thoughts. I was able to see the beauty and magnitude of God's world surrounding me. I felt more comfort in knowing that at least we had options to have children and with choices came hope for the future. I also felt reassured that God's plans are always greater than my plans and when I look back at every trial from my past- I am assured that things happened for great reason, that it couldn't have worked out better, and that God was right all along re: knowing just what I needed. Then I thought about trials in life and all the things I could be facing. I began saying prayers of thanksgiving for our health, our family, and most importantly that God had already been generous enough to give me such an incredible husband. I thanked God that if I had to face a "trial" that would test my marriage and my faith, then at least it was infertility and it was something Kevan and I could tackle together. I mean, God never said life would be easy so if this is my path then God would give me strength to handle it, right? As my eyes began to clear and I retook my path along the lake, I continued to talk to God and He continued to provide peace. My grief did not disappear and I still felt tinges of pain, but the peace in my heart reassured me that it was all manageable...I could survive this.
Since that morning, I have held tightly to God and to His promise that all of this is part of His wondrous plan for my life. I have managed to avoid feeling bitter and instead embrace this chapter in our life and stay faithful that it will be a time of growth and strength in our marriage. I do not pretend that some days I do not feel incredibly sad and frustrated that it cannot be easier for us. That I do not occasionally feel overwhelmed with jealousy for the pregnant girl in the grocery store or I do not loath the constant facebook pregnancy announcements. But I also know that grief comes in waves and occasionally those waves will knock you down and shove salt water up your nose. I am grieving the loss of what I thought my family would look like, but that does not mean that I am not faithful that God's plans for my family will be far greater than mine.
jenn
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