Even if there were a hundred...

I want my friends and family to read this.  I want those who know and love me to know my thoughts, feelings and struggles.  But my hope for this site was that others who don't know me, but suffer the same struggles would find this site and make a connection.  I am alone in a crowd, and I had hoped this blog would open up a line of communication to a crowd in which I would NOT be alone.

So far, this doesn't seem to be the case, and after reading a little bit of the book Silent Sorority, I am feelling a little hopeless again. 

Finding CrossHeart Ministries as a support group probably saved my life.  Knowing I wasn't alone in the unending grief of loss definitely helped keep me sane.  Finding women who would listen and understand the pain I was suffering was an incredible release at a time when I had very little.

But it seems a little like I might have come full circle in some ways.  I started reading Silent Sorority and at first I thought - hallelujah!  This lady knows exactly how I feel!  This lady totally gets the pain that comes with knowing I will never have kids.  At first this was an awesome feeling.  But I have come down from the high.

Currently she is the only one I have found that gets it.  And since she is a celebrity and since she doesn't live in Memphis, it isn't a lot of help to hear her story.  And more importantly, and the point of this rambling entry, is that it doesn't matter even if she was, or even if I did find other women who understand.

It won't change the outcome.  It won't change the facts.  I will still be childless.  I will still not know the joy of giving birth to a living breathing part of my husband and me.  I will still not know what it is to be a mother, to raise a child, to see my husband in my child's eyes or nose or smile.  I will always only know how close I came and how cruelly that chance was literally ripped out of my body.

Although I have been pregnant, although I gave birth to a baby I never saw or held, I will never have a child.  I will never truly be a mother.

No matter how many books I read, no matter how many women I meet, no matter how successful a support group is, no matter how many people I talk to, it will never change.  It will never be different. 

I will still never have a child.

The only people who will ever truly understand that pain, women who have come so close to the dream and had it ripped from their arms, are also the only people who understand that it doesn't matter if we meet each other - it wouldn't matter if there were a hundred of us in a room.  It won't change.

I will still never have a child.