Still waiting for the rain...

The tears came yesterday afternoon. About nothing, and about everything. I’ve been crying since then.

I cried about winter that left without as much as a goodbye. About spring that came during the night, left its fresh green colors and crispy, sweet smell, but disappeared before the morning broke. And about summer that made everything hot before I was ready to shed my winter disguise.

I cried about the children running in the mall, clutching balloons and eating ice cream, because I’ll never feel little arms creeping around my neck, nor a sweet, whispery voice breathing “I love you mom” into my ear.

I cried about the baby geckos scattering up against the wall, because I’ll never have the chance to call out “Come look my love!” and teach my child the wonders of nature.

I cried when my mom phoned, because I’ll never be able to see the wondrous joy on my parents’ faces when I tell them I’m expecting their grandchild. I cried because I’ll never see my dad on his knees next to my child, teaching him how to put the bait on the hook. I cried because I’ll never see my mom with my child on her lap, holding her close while reading about the love of Jesus.

I cried about my sister’s phone ringing, hearing her say something to her son, knowing no child of mine would ever ask my advice, need my teaching, my consolation when heartbroken, or share their joy when happy.

I cried when I smelled the Yesterday-today-tomorrow flower because it reminded me of my grandmother. And I cried when I realized there will never be a grandchild of mine remembering me in the smell and colors of a flower, or anything else.

I cried when I smelled the earth when I watered the garden, missing the rain with an ache in my heart, as much as I miss the children that are there, rather than in my arms.

I cried about my forever empty womb, my empty heart, and my child-empty future.

I’m still crying about my broken dreams. About unanswered prayers, those who were answered differently from what I begged of the Lord.

I’m crying for me, for the woman that buried her grief for so many years, trying to be strong, trying to be positive, trying to put Infertility behind her, not realizing it’s not something you can move from one place to another. Once it’s part of your life, you might be lucky enough some days to just remember the pain when you see the scars.

But then you might be one of the unlucky ones that are beaten down and left standing naked and alone, when everyone around them is clothed in parenthood.

I’m crying because I know I have to. It’s time to wash away the cobwebs that grew over the hurt I buried deep inside. I know the tears will cleanse my soul, and I know I will be even stronger when this too has passed.

Maybe I’ll cry for another hour, maybe till tomorrow or the day after. Maybe I’ll stop when I’m tired and weary and carry on in a week’s time. Maybe this time it will be enough.

For every beginning there always is an ending, and like the song says: “...the sun doesn't go down, it’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning round”.

I'll find different clothes, different than what I longed for; different clothes to hide my shame and grief. I will not be beaten down by Infertility. I will not be humiliated by the way it stripped me from my most precious of dreams.

I will wear my new clothes with pride, lift my face up into the light, and start dreaming different dreams...