I wonder how often your heart can be broken before you’re no longer able to piece it back together.
I wonder how many times you can open yourself to possibility only to be disappointed before you give up.
I wonder when you’ve laid on your bathroom floor sobbing too often to find the strength to shuffle to the couch instead.
I wonder how angry you can get before punching the wall or running through the baby isle at Walgreens throwing the diapers at other customers.
And I wonder how many times a 30 second phone call can completely wreck you before you stop answering.
The hope I try so hard to grasp to has once again been ripped away. And the weight of all the frustration, disappointment, pain, and failure are crushing me today.
I knew this was a possibility. I’m a realist. I knew the statistics. I knew our odds. I thought I was prepared to hear the news. I wasn’t. You can’t adequately prepare yourself for hope being snatched away again.
I don’t understand any of it. Why we seem destined for heartache. Why others get to raise their kids and mine die. Why I give myself to hope only to be met with heartbreak.
The world is not fair. I know that. But I’m tired. I’m mad at everything. God. The universe. Mother nature. The doctors. Myself. No amount of praying, believing, wishing or hoping makes any difference. My daughter still died. The embryos still died. Possibility still died.
I know we have one more frozen one. But today I can’t even go there. I am devastated and can’t imagine walking this path again. Maybe time will soften the blow. But right now, I am not interested in spending any more weeks dreaming only to have hope shattered.
Please don’t get me started on prayer, God’s will or whatever platitudes people throw your way while you’re grieving. I’m not interested. Not today.
Maybe I will be less angry tomorrow. Maybe I won’t. Because again, I don’t know how much you can take before you can’t take it any longer. Today my spirit and my hope are broken.