Guilt. That is my current state.
Not once has C made me feel like this is my fault. He keeps saying “this is our diagnosis.” The truth of the matter is I do feel it is my fault. It is my body who is letting us down. He didn’t sign up to marry someone with bad eggs. For better or for worse, he keeps telling me. This is the worst, hopefully. At our wedding we held hands at the alter as the poem Blessing of the Hands was read:
These are the hands of your best friend, young and strong and full of love for you, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as you promise to love each other today, tomorrow, and forever.
These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you build your future.
These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, and with the slightest touch, will comfort you like no other.
These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind.
These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of sorrow, and tears of joy.
These are the hands that will tenderly hold your children.
These are the hands that will help you to hold your family as one.
These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it.
And lastly, these are the hands that even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch.
“These are the hands that will tenderly hold your children”
It plays over and over in my head.
I don’t feel like I am keeping up my end of the bargain. I am the woman. It’s my job to produce the babies. That is what my body was made to do. Every woman in my family – Grandmas, Aunts, and Mom – had babies. Both Grandmas had six kids each. My paternal Grandma had my dad at 40. Naturally! My mom had my sister at 23 and then me at 25. No issues and perfect pregnancies.
For some reason I have always worried about having kids. I have wanted it more than anything. I went to college to get a degree to support myself, but the job I have always wanted is to be a Mom. Millions of people get pregnant every month. Why can’t I? We really try hard in this family to not feel sorry for ourselves and say “why me?” C and his family have had their fair share of “not fair”. But they never mope around and complain about it.
