January 13, 2009


As I was hopping from one channel to the next, trying to find something to watch, I happened upon a show that shares birth stories.

I stopped clicking. I turned up the volume.

I've always been drawn to birthing shows. I just love being in the same room as a mother, I love sharing in her experience. It's such a personal and defining moment in a woman's life, and I am blown away every time I hear the first little meow from the babe....

It was different tonight.

I watched a woman, whose labor wasn't going as planned, wheeled down the hall for an emergency c-section.

I sat on the edge of my couch, willing the baby healthy and strong. Willing the mother the courage. Sending the family my prayers.

I started to cry.

Today, it hit me.

Today, I realized that I will never, never give birth again.

It's ironic that this season of my life has ended in the winter.




And I try to remember that after the winter, comes the spring.





It's not fair, I'm not ready.

It's not fair, how time marches on, oblivious to the effects it has on people.

It's not fair, that my ability to create life has been stolen.

It's not fair, that I didn't get the luxury of making that choice.

So for now, I lay the book of my life aside.

I keep it on my nightstand.

I know the story's not over.

But I have to relive the last few chapters.

I need to let it all sink in.

I have to come to term.

I relish the good parts, and I cry over the sad.

But I can't open the book.

Not yet.

Maybe when the spring comes.

Maybe when the sun shines, and melts the snow.

Maybe when the flowers bloom, and kites begin to fly.