He stood in the kitchen the other day and announced that he had been thinking.
We’d been talking about it for a while, but this time he had come to a conclusion.
“No more”, he had decided.
No more dreaming.
No more thinking.
No more making plans.
No more visions of a little girl with my fair skin and her father’s dark hair.
No more handling of little lacy dresses and exclaiming over fancy, sparkling bows.
No more wishing.
No more hoping.
We would, he announced, not be having children.
Ever.
And my heart, which had, of course, been casually and carelessly broken before, caved in.
And I couldn’t breathe.
He was sorry, he said. He knew that he hurt me. He knew that he was crushing my dreams.
But he had made up his mind.
He was right.
He HAD hurt me.
He had broken my heart.
No.
No. He had done much more than that.
He had shattered my world.
I came of age, of course, in the era of shoulder pads and power suits.
I knew that “Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves” and that “She Works Hard For the Money” long before I was even mature enough to parse those words.
I was always a throwback. A Donna Reed. A June Cleaver wanna be.
Not with the pearls, of course.
I can’t cook…er…I don’t. I HAVE, but generally the kitchen is the Mister’s domain.
Generally all the grown up stuff, the driving, the taxes, the speaking to people in public is his domain too.
(He had already raised a child, people would say when they joked about me being so much younger than my husband. Why would he want the responsibility of rearing another one?)
Well, as it turns out….
No. That’s not fair.
He’s not the great villain in my life, now is he?
He knows I’m hurting.
He understands…well he mostly understands why it’s hard for me to go to work anymore since he is my boss.
He just doesn’t…
He can’t…
He will never…
Be empathetic.
To him, in his mind, we would make terrible parents.
We, at least HE, is on call all the time, for one thing.
The phone rings while we’re eating supper.
The phone rings while we’re in the car.
The phone rings while we’re at church.
He has even left the house before at one in the morning to drive down, set up, and print something that a funeral home needed for that/the next day.
He is a good man.
He wants to help.
He’s just so darn busy all the time.
But, I want to say…
So are doctors. So are EMTs. So are ministers and missionaries and counselors and professors and ANYBODY who works with the public, who is needed to help make the world a better place.
And they have children.
Ah. Yes. They do.
But THEY aren’t US.
He, with his self confidence and his need to be able to get things accomplished in HIS way in HIS time. Don’t I recognize how frustrated he gets when he is in the middle of something and a student or customer comes in needing something? Don’t I know that life with a child would be constant interruptions?
Don’t I think our poor little JJ would end up in therapy twenty years later because both of her parents had a strong, egocentric yen for taking the world and shaping it to fit themselves and their own needs?
“Selfishness” was the word he used.
We are so selfish…
We have tailored our world so well that we have stitched ourselves into it.
And any child who came along…
Anyone trying to find their own place
Would be ruined.
Ruined.
Not on purpose.
Just because we would be so unthinking…
So casual.
So selfish.
And with that phrase, my heart stopped beating.
See, the babies weren’t just hypothetical to me.
I could SEE them.
I can still see them.
Years,
Decades before I knew there was going to be a Kenny in my life,
There were my babies.
Jonathan Frederic
Jennifer Rose
Named after the glamorous “Hart” couple of 1980’s TV and both my mother AND father’s side of the family.
The day we moved into this house, I had a room picked out for a nursery.
And then…
And then came my husband’s job after job after job
And my breakdown.
I’m emotional.
He’s busy.
I battle depression.
He’s always at the office.
We hit a rough patch there…
And couldn’t stand to be around each other very much.
And then…
Then things got better.
We became a real team.
A real couple.
And I started dreaming again.
Until that night in the kitchen.
As you know,
I have always been Rachel, begging for children from her husband’s God.
I struggle.
I cry.
I remind God that I never WANTED a career.
Offices were not for me.
I did not major in Law, or Science, or Education…
Nothing that would put me in a classroom, or lab, or boardroom, or library.
I wanted to be someone’s Mommy.
No,
That’s not technically true…
I wanted to be THEIR Mommy.
My Jonathan
My Jennifer.
But he says no more.
No more.
Stop dreaming.
Stop begging.
Stop crying.
Look forward.
Move on.
“But you are so creative,” say the well meaning, but not entirely helpful people in my life who REALLY DO love me even if I do want to grab them and scream in their faces sometimes.
“You are so creative. You’ve written stories and plays and when you were little you wrote songs and tiny books. Be a writer. Be a play write. Let your work, let your volumes be your children.”
A valid choice, that is.
I’ve heard authors compare their books to their babies. Some even say they cannot choose a favorite work, just as they cannot choose a favorite child.
But…they have a child.
Not words on paper, but a living, breathing little person whose hair they can touch and whose cheek they can kiss.
“Ah,” say the same people who were trying to offer encouragement with their last statements “You don’t understand what it is like. You don’t have to deal with throw up or spiked fevers at two in the morning. You don’t have to deal with water in baby’s ear because they went to the swimming pool. There are no toys in your living room that should be in the play chest. There are no stains on your best clothes. In many ways, you are free.”
Thank you.
I will take these words to heart.
You do make me wonder why you even had a baby in the first place if you think they are that much trouble, but I appreciate your support.
“And you?” Some have asked, “Why do YOU want a baby so badly?”
They point out that I’m a self proclaimed princess.
I am a spoiled brat.
Much of my life is done for me and I don’t REALLY encounter anything hard.
“And having a child,” they remind me, “Is HARD.”
Yes.
I realize that.
But you yourself didn’t know how hard it would be before you had your child, now did you?
And, besides,
We live in first world countries in the twenty first century
Aren’t we ALL just a little bit spoiled?
But I don’t say this.
I don’t say any of it.
I myself don’t know what to say to my lovies whey THEY are going through hard times. I know that people love me and aren’t really thinking about what they are saying either.
And yet…
If one more person tells me that this is something every woman goes through?
I seriously might just lose it.
REALLY?
I want to say
EVERY woman stands in the kitchen and listens as her husband rips out her still beating heart?
EVERY woman despises Mother’s Day so much that she wishes it can be erased from the calender? ‘
And don’t even get me started on those “And to all the women who are aunts or have worked with children, we thank you too” tags… It’s a sop, a concession and we all know it.
EVERY woman has to listen to her husband explain that he doesn’t think she’ll be a good mother because she misses so much church and loves her bed more than she loves most people?
I get it.
I mean, I do but I don’t.
I’m sorry. For those of you who have lost babies (and I know you are out there), I’m sorry. I cannot imagine your pain. If I could throw my arms around you and somehow lesson your grief, I would.
For those of you who have struggled through years of infertility and all the stigmas and gossip and expensive treatments that entails, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine your pain either. I cannot. I’m sorry we live in a world that pays for birth control and sex aids but does not help those who want to expand their family.
I’m sorry for the stupid things people say.
I’m sorry for the way that your reputations changed when people found out you had some kind of hurt or obstacle in your life.
I’m sorry for the friends you may have lost, the people who stayed away.
I really am.
I’m sorry I cannot give you any comfort.
And I’m sorry I cannot take any comfort from you.
I’m sorry that my broken heart and mind cannot see your proffers of solace as anything but stupidity.
No, I’ve never lost a baby.
No, I’ve never had injections.
No, I do not know if God is directing me to better things.
In all honesty, I have no idea what (besides the grief that I feel) is going on in and around Stephanie Land.
I’ve never been pregnant.
I’ve never tried to be.
The Mister never thought it was time.
Until it was…
Or so I believed.
We started making plans.
After fifteen years, there were finally a few discussions.
A few glimpses.
A few flutterings
Of hope.
Tiny little girl child, I thought…
Black hair like her Daddy
Fair skin like me
Our very own Snow White
She was there
She was real
I could see her
I could
Until the man I married
The man I was daily building a life with
The man I thought would make our family
Took her away
Now I’m not an outwardly introspective person
I talk to myself, to my cat, to the heavens
When I am in bed
I try to figure myself
My world
My existance
Out
But mostly, in public, I act on feeling
So I’ve never actually discussed WHY I wanted a child
It was just something that was known
Stephanie wears glasses
Stephanie has freckles
Stephanie wants to be a Mama
Stephanie did
Stephanie DOES
And Stephanie doesn’t know how to feel
Anymore
“Let Go.” I’ve been told. “Let God.”
“Nothing can touch us that hasn’t been sifted already through His fingers of love”
“He will direct your paths”
“Turn it over to Him”
I used to be one of those people
Minister’s daughter
Hymn Singer
Bible Drill Queen
Sunday School Student with her hand up in the air
Miss Know it All
And then Life Happened
And Miss Know it All discovered that she didn’t really know very much
And now I say that.
It’s hard.
It’s hard to be a Rachel in my world.
My world doesn’t like questions.
Or doubts.
Even my church…my church as collective, I mean
Acts as if Jesus were the Magic Answer Giver
We all are supposed to be Hannah’s
Hurt but still praying
Crushed but still believing
Keeping her promises
Well,
I’ve never been Hannah
I wasn’t Hannah at twenty four and I’m not Hannah now
I’m crushed
I’m hurting
I can’t see how any of this is going to work out
At all
And “Let Go and Let God” hurts
I’m sorry,
But when the person who is supposed to love you best and most over all the world
Takes your dearest and most cherished dream
Rips it out of your soul
And stops it to death before your eyes
“Let Go and Let God” hurts ALOT
And what you discover
Is that work hurts too
And you don’t want to be anywhere near your husband
Especially when he is your boss
Yet,
Since it’s just the two of you,
Home seems like a cage
And,
Though you had been coming together
Working through things
Feeling like true partners
Your sadness enters before you do
And your husband escapes to his office as much as he can
Leaving you deserted and confused
At least FEELING deserted and confused
(He would be there. You know he would be there. But he hurt you.
And though
You want someone to love you
Truly love you
Through your pain
You aren’t sure if the person who caused it in the first place
Is really the right man for the job right now
Even if he IS the man who has been with you
All of your life.)
So you back away.
Sometimes flinching.
He says he’s sorry.
He says he knows.
He says it will pass.
EVERYBODY says it will pass.
“Dream a new dream”
“The best way to forget about your own need is to help someone else who is hurting more”
“Keep busy. Don’t think about it.”
“Let Go and Let God.”
The Mister says I need to get up.
“You will feel so much better if you will just get up and go to work and church.”
I tell him I don’t miss as much as he thinks I do
And Yet
Church…
The place I’ve been since I was six weeks old
The place I went every time the doors were open
(And sometimes when they were not)
Church
Refuge
Sanctuary
Alter
Salvation
For so many?
I cannot face right now
It hurts too much
I couldn’t even BEGIN to tell you why
It’s something I don’t really understand myself
Maybe it’s because the hymns
My beloved hymns
Are ashes right now
In my mouth
Maybe it’s because if I hear one more “Praise the Lord”
I’m gonna scream
It’s hard to sit numb through the solos and sermons
I’m NOT okay
I’m really
Really
Not
I’d rather be home in tears
But we’re big on church in my family
And we go
When we can make ourselves get out of bed
When we can tell ourselves that we only have to be hypocrites for two hours and then we will be home again
I wonder
A lot
If I DIDN’T know the stories
Sing the songs
If I COULDN’T recite the verses
Would it be easier?
If I wasn’t a minister’s child
And married to a leader
Could I be more real?
Because all anyone wants to hear is “fine”
It’s not like I can EXPLAIN or anything
And one doesn’t stay home
With a broken heart
Not when one is…
Not when one…
Well sometimes it’s just easier to let him haul me out of my sleep and stick me in the shower
No matter how much
Being around the faithful
Hurts
No matter how much
I want to blame him
He’s not a bad guy
He’s not my Prince Charming
But he’s not some kind of Wicked Evil Spouse either
And I’m trying
Very carefully trying
Not to vilify him
And I’m trying
Very carefully trying
Not to run too far away from Jesus either
But home feels like a cage
And church feels like a prison
And I’m Old Testament enough
And Backwoods enough
And just plain HUMAN enough
To believe I’m being punished
To believe that I’m so hurtful
Or WAS so hurtful
At some time in the past
To someone else
And THEIR dream
That now is when mine
Will be taken away
Forever
And it’s just me
And the Mister
And the millions of helpful unhelpful comments
That people
(Some of whom don’t even really know what is happening)
Feel compelled to give
Because people are people
And people like normality
And right now
I am anything but
Even though
I know that I WILL be singing solos again someday
And not skipping Mother’s Day
Or having to stop teach the children
Or crying for days before a reunion
Because EVERYBODY in my family
Has a newborn in the same year
Except for me
Someday
This will either be TRULY okay
Or so status quo
That it feels normal
To be numb
But right now?
You know what?
It’s hard to be around people
And church
And work
And even the people I love
Because my husband
The person who is supposed to love me most and best
Stood in the kitchen one day
Reached into my heart
And ripped it out
And that?
Well that is going to take some time
To heal
If ever
It does
