Believe In Miracles, They Say

I knocked on the door of a miracle & found grief instead.

This is still too hard, too painful to talk about, but in my bed last night, I tried to see if I could write about it. My heart on the page. So here goes.

Believe in miracles, they say. So I did. And then I didn’t.

It got too hard, too confusing. So I shut out the possibility of a miracle. It kept me stuck, and I didn’t want to be stuck.

So I accepted what was right in front of me. I embraced my reality.

After all, I did experience miracles, five of them. And boy, do I cherish these five miracles of mine.

But here’s the thing. They are not in my life to fill a void. They are not a replacement for biological children. I was meant for them, and they were meant for me. I know that as clear as day. And my desire to have a biological child has nothing to do with them. It’s primal, visceral. One doesn’t replace the other. I know how privileged I am to raise children through adoption. I wouldn’t change it for the world. They aren’t the lucky ones. I am. AND I want a biological child. Not instead, but also. Not because my kids aren’t enough, they are so beyond anything I could’ve imagined. One experience doesn’t substitute another.

I want to grow a child inside of me.

I want to give birth.

I want to see myself in my baby’s face.

I want to know what it feels like to have a piece of me outside of me.

G-d created women with the desire to procreate (yes, there are exceptions) it’s unnatural to not be able to.

A few months ago, my husband and I get a call. There’s been some development, another test.Do you want to try? What could it hurt?

Do we dare to hope, to open that door? Do we dare to believe in miracles? In this particular miracle? I’m so scared to even go anywhere near this. But I can do hard things, I tell myself. I was born for this.

Believe in miracles they say, so I do.

Manifest they say, so I do.

I’m surprised at how fast I can imagine the reality of a biological child.

And before I know it, I truly believe that it’s going to happen. My brain keeps saying this is a long shot, protect yourself. But my heart, my heart is a goner. There’s no going back.

I’m sure you know where this is going just by the fact that I’m writing this.

But let me spell it out: The test was unsuccessful.

Hashem can do anything He wants. I know that.

He doesn’t want this for us.

Apparently, what I want isn’t what Hashem wants….

Why after twenty years, open that door?

The grief.

I feel stupid for even allowing myself to hope. I should know better.

I don’t know how to deal with this grief. I don’t have the time to fall apart.

It’s almost like I’m being pushed to feel the grief from the first time around, because I definitely didn’t know how to feel the grief all those years ago.

Do I even know how to feel it now? I don’t know. I think if I do, it will consume me. I’m scared.

My brain tells me to feel ashamed that I feel so much loss, there is real loss in the world. I’m so blessed, but my heart, my heart feels it anyway. The heart wants what the heart wants.

I guess in the end the miracle is that I do believe in Hashem. I believe in the bigger picture. I believe that there is a purpose to it all.

I used to think that maybe I didn’t pray enough, beg enough, believe in miracles enough, and that’s why it didn’t happen.

But now I know this just isn’t my story, and I’m coming to terms with that, again.

Hashem can make it happen if He wants. And that will always be a truth.

But I’m not waiting for that, I’ve come full circle. The message is clear, and for some reason I needed to learn it again, and deeper.

The pain will always be there, and I will learn to live with it. Again.

I’m not ok, but I will be.