Poppyseed passed through the kitchen wearing a sweatshirt that had been mine as a young girl.
Frume Sarah: She looks so cute in that.
Prince Charming: Yeah, but it’s starting to look small on her. She’s not going to be able to wear it for much longer.
FS (sighing): And there’s no one to wear it after her…
PC: I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you.
PC: Hey, look at it this way. You’ve gotten good use out of it.
FS: Um…are we still talking about my uterus?
What happens when there is a disconnect between the mind and the heart? The heart must lose. And so it aches. And yearns. And grieves.
How much time must pass to heal from that pain?
I had always assumed that my last child would be the one whom I knew would be the completion of our family. My family of origin had four children and I wanted to replicate the chaos and camaraderie in my own household. I imagined a family with at least four kids. Kids who bickered noisily and loved passionately.
I might have emphasized the noisy bickering a bit too much…
Intellectually, I understand, and agree with, the reasons why my child-bearing years are over. Emotionally… A different story.
Yes, I know that so many women have struggled to have just one child and here I am complaining that I have “only” three. Please forgive me for what might appear to be a lack of gratitude. I have been entrusted with three wonderful children. I cannot conceive of a world without them. Yet, I am missing my “last child.” The one who is not to be.
I’m just not ready to say goodbye to the act of creating life one more time.