Life is a deck of cards. You never know which cards you will be dealt or how you will play them. Regardless of how many times you attempt to reshuffle them, the cards, good and bad, are yours.
In the hand of cards life had dealt me was the Joker. The card called Infertility. A word evoking many raw emotions that I never knew I possessed. A word, which threatened my dreams and made me vulnerable to a broken heart and a broken spirit before our journey ended.
Our journey to parenthood began with hope and excitement that diminished rapidly with each and every negative pregnancy test and with the realization that our journey was not a simple coupling of egg meets sperm, but would much, much more. It would indeed become an odyssey crammed with victories and defeats, sirens, villains, and heroes.
And the biggest question in my life would be answered. A question in the beginning of our adventure I would be unable to answer for the longest time. Questions that involved more than a simple yes or no and an answer nobody could give me. There would be a realization of a loss that would need to mourned, grieved, processed, and accepted. A loss that would be monumental to nobody, but me.
I have been asked how I write something so terribly difficult to put into words and remain whole and unbroken. I’ve often wondered where these words come from.
Are these words in my heart or do they linger in the air hung over the silence between each moment just as the snow swirls in the air over the mountain ranges? Are they the words I yearned to speak but at times, fear, anger, disappointment rendered me speechless? Or, are they the words spun in dreams that chased the shadows and the demons and carried the hope that lingered in my heart like a candle’s flicker. Or, like a smoldering candle’s flame, did the words singe my heart and blister my spirit all those months of waiting only to return as a phoenix from the ashes? Would I be a stronger woman? Would I find strength to continue when all roads lead to failure?
The words that fill these pages are words filled with loathing and anger and triumphant and hope. Words spoken to no one until now. To say this is my story is unfair. We both lived it. We both experienced it. And, yet in the end, it was I, who found her voice.