i can. and yet, i can’t.

i can feel the rigidity of the keyboard beneath my fingertips. with each keystroke the letters push back against me. i can see my keystrokes turn into words, morph into wandering thoughts on the bright screen before my eyes. floating in and out, these thoughts that linger in my mind, i can hear them become my voice. what do we do now?

and yet i can’t speak. i don’t know what to do now.

because to voice it aloud means acknowledging that it happened.

what happened.  it’s over.

the road. i’m at the end of it. i am facing a block wall. i long for a crossroad instead. i wish for a rock and a hard place. anything but a block wall. this wall has no window, no secret crevasse to aid in my escape. the reality of it slaps me in the face. i can’t believe it.

next door, i can hear a newborn crying, its nanny seemingly oblivious to its plight. not more than 10 feet between us, it is taking every ounce of my strength to plant my feet firmly on the floor instead of leaping the fence and rescuing that poor little one. i can feel my heart sinking with every cry. in my head i am screaming “please just hold that baby already, it just wants to be held and loved, let me hold that baby, i will love it, please.”

and i can’t. i can’t hold that baby. i can’t hold any babies. my body literally will not carry a baby anymore. it can try, sure. but in the end, it just can’t. this is the reality. this is my block wall.

i can hear my thoughts becoming my voice, in my head, growing louder and more jarring. there is still time. you’re still ‘young.’  when you feel like giving up, remember why you started.

i can’t. i can’t remember why i started. as if i CHOSE this path, i had free will and chose infertility. i’ll let you in on a dirty little secret. i always feel like giving up.

i can remember WHEN i started. but not why. so when does it end. the punishment. what do i do now. all i know is trying. all i can remember of this path is work. years of sacrifice. pain. pick yourself up and trudge on. for years. i can’t remember why. why do i want to keep doing this to myself. to us. when does it end. today? i can begin to see that as more of a reality than ever before.

and i can see amazing son. my honest-to-god living miracle. i see him for the gift he truly is. and in all his rough and tumble demeanor, every so often he reaches up to me and surprises me. i think he is going for my face and instinctively flinch. but he stops short and instead cradles my locket in his hand. he looks at it, studies the birthstones within, and asks me “are these my brothers?” and i can’t hold it together. i can only cry. and tell him the truth.IMG_9436

yes, my sweet boy, those are your brothers.

i can’t give you real ones. just these representations of love lost. hopes and dreams that will never be. i can’t hold myself together. not in that moment. not now. it’s over.

One thought on “i can. and yet, i can’t.

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