There was a couple married a week after us, who also got a honeymoon baby, who got to keep their pregnancy full-term.
They had their baby today.
I wonder if I get to re-live this feeling every three months the rest of this year, as each lost pregnancy is marked by the elusive and shadowy due date that never came, only to culminate in the depths of the anniversary of my mother’s death?
Remember the year my father was dying from cancer? And my mom moved into my house and needed spinal surgery? And a four year old suddenly was living at my house?
Remember how that year was hard? The hardest year ever?
Then remember last year, and how I met Nathan, and our gloriously sappy courtship, and how it was as amazing as the previous year (decade) was hard?
Well, this year got hard again.
So there’s that. I confess it. I am weak and sad and exhausted by grief this year since mom was killed and the three miscarriages.
And it makes me anxious to think about going to that doctor in the morning, when the test results are serious enough she won’t even tell me on the phone.
And I am terrified to begin fostering, having no idea if we can really be any help to anyone.
Excepting here’s the thing: no matter how hard life gets, my life now is still so much better than it ever has been before. And I know that it is because Heavenly Father loves me, and because I know He loves me. So I am okay with sticking to His plan, because His plan always works out way better than mine.
Also, there is Nathan.
Nathan still makes everything better.
And worth it.
Happiness isn’t measured by how easy life is – that’s not the point.
Happiness is found in the strength of truths that are neither changed nor affected by external circumstances.
And it is that happiness that get us through the hard things.
And sometimes over or around them.
I know that my life was such a state of destruction, and I was in such bondage, that I was in the place that everyone around me recognized the miracles that healed me and set me free, regardless of their personal opinions or degrees of faith.
I know that finding Nathan was a series of miracles.
I know, also, that any child we are able to have biologically, will also be a miracle, and in exact perfect timing for what that child needs for mortal experiences.
I know, also, that any children sent to us for fostering will be the exact right match to teach us as much as we try to help them.
I know because it’s not my plan.
It’s bigger than me.
And it’s the bigger-than-me part that gives happiness inside-of-me.
That’s what I know is true, no matter what the illusion of circumstance tries to swirl around me.
And even when it swirls dark and stormy, I am not alone.
Because there is Nathan, smiling, and holding my hand, and pointing me to the sun.