MCreates

It was just another Sunday morning. The mass just finished, and the weather was great, so my husband and I just decided to walk home. It’s not too far anyway though it is still a couple of blocks away from home. I never expected that that walk would open wounds that I thought had already healed.

Sundays and perfect weather, of course, it’s a good time to be outside. Then I see it As if teasing me and daring me to look. Screaming with joy as his father throws him in the air and catches him afterward. I can hear his father laughing. I sense their happiness. His mother watches them, half-worried, half ecstatic seeing her son and her husband have fun together but knowing the risk that he could get hurt. That fragile being that needs your care. That baby that needs your hugs and kisses. That baby that sleeps as you sing a lullaby. That baby that grips your finger and lays its head on your shoulder as he sleeps. My heart ached as the thought flashed through my mind – I can never have one of my own.

I tried. We tried. Failure after failure just tears us more and more. Where you go up and down with your hopes until it becomes too painful to try again. The hope we feel when we hear about a new treatment, about a success story shared by a friend. The joy we feel at the beginning of the process, with high hopes that this time it will work. This time, we will be successful. That high that we feel during those moments of hope, only to fall badly after a few days or weeks after we find out that we failed again. It was almost like doing skydiving and realizing that you don’t have a parachute after jumping. Until you are scared to hope again. But seeing that baby now, laughing and his mother looking at him with so much love and happiness, I could not help but feel that void again. That void that makes me want to start hoping again and maybe try again, but looking back at those times when we hear that our attempts failed over and over, I get scared.

I didn’t realize that I was standing there for too long, just watching them. My husband just patiently watched me. What a great man he is. It would have been harder than it already is if not for him. How he patiently goes through all the tests and trials without any complaints just amazes me. How he accepted that we cannot have a child also gives me consolation. At times, I am content with just the two of us. But days like this make me feel that I am missing something, that I need to be a mother.

Days like this and family reunions maybe. When relatives and friends start asking why we don’t have kids yet. If they only knew how much it hurts to be asked that question. Why? Why? If I knew the answer, then it would have been easier to accept, but no, I don’t know why. Maybe I will never know why.

It’s another Sunday morning. It’s been raining hard the past few days but I still decided to walk home from church. My poor husband didn’t like it, I know, but he walked with me anyway. The streets are almost empty except for a few other churchgoers who also decided to walk home under the rain. Everything seems silent except for the sound of the rain and some passing cars. I hear a sound from the trash, maybe a kitten. Soft crying sounds filled my ears, and it made me curious. I approached the neighborhood’s trash bin and beside it, a box wrapped in a blanket. Poor kitty, I thought as my heart raced for some reason. Then I saw it. Tiny hands and tiny feet, wet with the rain and shivering from the cold. I took it from the box and held it close to me. My husband took his scarf off to wrap the baby with it. He tried to dry that tiny body as I carried it. As he wipes the baby’s hand, I see a smile form on the baby’s face as he wraps his tiny fingers on my husband’s finger. Then I knew why. Finally, I understand why.